


Happy Families

by SheilaPaulson



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-14
Updated: 2003-03-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 19:24:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11812602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheilaPaulson/pseuds/SheilaPaulson
Summary: A "blatantly sentimental" story.





	Happy Families

**Author's Note:**

> Note from oracne, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Bang and Blame](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Bang_and_Blame), a Blake’s 7 archive, which has been offline for several years. To keep the works available for readers and scholars, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after June 2017. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Bang and Blame collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/BangAndBlame/profile).
> 
> (Because I wanted to write a blatantly sentimental B7 story. So there!)
> 
> originally published in Serrated Seven

"This one is dead, too, Commissioner."

 

Vila Restal slitted his eyes open carefully, lying perfectly still, as the officer withdrew his hand from he side of Avon's neck.

 

"I gave orders they were only to be stunned," Sleer snapped furiously, glaring at the major defiantly.

 

"And so he was, Commissioner. I fear he was hit at least five times. His system was lethally depressed." The officer stood up to her. "He was shooting at my men indiscriminately. Naturally they returned fire."

 

"I won't have him dead," she retorted automatically, as if she could order life and death. "He was not to be killed. He is useless to me dead."

 

Dead. It hit Vila with all the force of another stun bolt, and he closed his eyes helplessly. Avon couldn't be dead. As well say a force of nature had ended.

 

Since the Malodaar shuttle, Vila had believed he'd hated Avon but he couldn't have, or he wouldn't be feeling this pain. It was as if the props of his existence had been kicked away, leaving him floundering. Life without Avon? It didn't bear thinking about.

 

"The other members of his crew are alive, Commissioner," the officer said stolidly. "Only Avon, and, er, Blake himself, are dead."

 

"Take them prisoner," Sleer ordered in a curiously flat voice as if Avon had been one of her props as well. "As for Avon and Blake, we will leave them here. When the prisoners have been removed, seal this place. Plant charges outside. It shall be their tomb. No one will find them here; they shall not be martyrs."

 

"But the rest of the crew...."

 

"Will be dead soon enough," Servalan replied vindictively. "Their belief will not matter. I shall tell them Avon is dead. Better they should die with the full knowledge of what has happened."

 

At first, the officer was silent, then he barked an order, and presently two troopers came and picked up Vila by the feet and shoulders, slinging him about as if he were a sack of garbage. He made himself lie limply. Later, when he was away from Servalan, he would let himself revive. The others all lived. Maybe they could escape.

 

But Vila doubted it. He didn't want to die and he knew the others wouldn't either, but without Avon, what use were they? He might be the best thief in the Federated worlds--the thought didn't bring the rush of pride it usually did--but there was nowhere left to run.

 

Presently he heard several distant explosions, and he opened his eyes again, to see Tarrant, who was lying beside him. The pilot's eyes were grim, and Vila realized he'd heard of Avon's death, too. They stared at each other with kindred disbelief--Avon couldn't  _really_  be dead, could he? But both men knew it was true.

 

Seeing each other's pain, they withdrew with a kind of unnatural tact and closed their eyes. Vila shuddered. This must be the end of everything.

 

#

 

The darkness was nearly complete, so palpable a thing that at first he thought he was blind--or dead. He preferred the second alternative.

 

Avon ached with a numb, thudding pain that jerked his muscles sharply every few moments. It felt as if his system had been shorted out, and he lay there twitching a little, gasping to breathe normally. Something cold and unyielding but too soft to be the floor lay beneath his cheek, and he identified it as someone's shoulder.

 

Blake's.

 

He found he could move after all, jerking away violently and sitting there shuddering. In the darkness, he could only see vague shapes, and the nearest one was an obvious body. The coldness beneath his cheek had not been the coldness of the room but the coldness of death. Death...

 

Death!

 

His hand crept forward to touch Blake's face. The flesh was marble, stiff and unyielding, set in rigor mortis. Dead.

 

Avon pulled back, but did not leave entirely. Blake was dead and he had killed him, without hesitation, without remorse.

 

No, not without remorse. It had come later, when he learned that Blake had not sold him after all. Blake had not been traitor but fool, and that had always been the problem. Blake had nearly begged for death. Only a fool would tell Kerr Avon he'd set him up and expected to walk away, only a fool or a stranger, and Blake was not a stranger.

 

Sudden tremors wracked him harder than the aftereffects of the stun. Blake was dead and they were abandoned here together. Why else was it so dark?

 

He fumbled his way across the room, hunting for a control panel, something to bring up the lights. After an hour of dedicated searching, he found an emergency power switch which gave him dim, red light upon a scene of chaos. There were several other bodies in the room, the woman he had shot before Blake arrived, another man. Avon had vaguely noticed him arriving and the Federation officer shooting him. There were no dead soldiers. Doubtless they had removed their own.

 

Avoiding Blake, Avon circled the room looking for an exit. But the doors had vanished into piles of rubble. He was trapped here.

 

In helpless panic, he tore at the rubble, succeeding only in bringing more of it down and driving him back. It would require a more dedicated effort to free himself and Blake.

 

And Blake?

 

He looked at the corpse. This was no fit place for Blake to rest. How had they come to be alone, and where were the others? Did their absence mean they lived? Avon hardly cared. Only the body that lay so still, so reproachful, mattered.

 

He sat down beside Blake's body. In death, the rebel looked more tranquil than he had ever done in life, but unfamiliar, too, as if Blake in this state was not quite real. The scarred face distorted the familiar image but not enough to convince him it was a stranger. The voice had been Blake, the look had been Blake, the dead man had been Blake.

 

Avon stared at him, unable to tear his eyes away. "Ah, Blake," he muttered in a moment of bitter regret. Then, louder, "Damn you! Damn you!"

 

He was sorry for the outburst, but there was no one to hear it.

 

No one but the bodies.

 

With sudden shock, he realized he must have been mistaken for another of them. He had been sealed away with them living, trapped here as long as he lived, watching them decay before his eyes. Unthinkable. Unbearable.

 

He attacked the collapsed doorway once more, pulling furiously at pieces of debris and flinging them to one side. He had to get out of here! He couldn't stay here and watch Blake's body decompose.

 

Time blurred around him. He found a tiny hole in the ceiling overhead the next day, when rain came cascading in. Probably weakened in the explosion. He stacked consoles and tried to reach it, failed. After a frantic try or two, he forced himself to be calm and placed a box beneath the opening to retrieve water. Then he returned to his digging.

 

There was no real food, only the odd packet of sweets or snacks in a drawer, but it was enough to keep him going. He hoarded his rainwater, making it last a long time, though thirst ravaged him as he worked.

 

He avoided looking at Blake. If he didn't watch him, he wouldn't see the slow but inevitable changes.

 

He had lost count of the days it took him to break free of his prison, but one day he burst into bright sunshine filtering down through the trees. For a long time, he lay there, soaking the sun's warmth into his bones, then, heaving a vast sigh, he picked up a piece of the rubble and began to dig a grave.

 

#

 

Cody Aserton was bored. Nat said only stupid people were ever bored, but what did Nat know? He had the ship to manage and a guard to post against troublemakers, bounty hunters and Federation snoopers. With a free watch, Cody had nothing to do while they were grounded in this blasted forest. Their passenger had vanished into the forest two days ago, and Nat, who had discovered a slight fluctuation in the drive, decided to use their remote location to strip it down and repair it. Cody lacked the knowledge to help, so he sat watches and read and walked about outside, bored as he never was in space.

 

He was a spacer's brat, at sixteen barely old enough to be real crew. Born in space, he'd never really liked planets except as places to visit briefly before returning to his real home, space. There was something unnerving about all that sky overhead, as if the atmosphere might leak away and vanish, leaving him in vaccuum. But he wasn't afraid of it, and to prove it, he went out for daily walks, running here and there to keep fit, and exploring the vicinity. He'd found a ruined base yesterday, and he meant to return to find out what had happened to it.

 

Whistling to himself, he set off through the trees, checking the charge of his gun. No crewman of the Saucy Sal ever went out unarmed. They had rebel sympathies, even if they didn't do much about it, and they distrusted the Federation on general principles. Cody would no more go out without his gun than he would go without his boots.

 

He had nearly reached the base when he saw a movement through the trees. Freezing, he put a tree trunk between himself and the motion and crept closer with great care.

 

The man didn't seem particularly threatening at first glance, though there was a gun beside him. He was sitting crosslegged on the ground beside what looked like a newly dug grave, staring blankly before him. Cody shivered. In space, bodies were disposed of properly, not put into the ground to rot. He was tempted to circle around the grave, but the man made him curious, so he stayed there, watching.

 

The man was clad in black, a tattered black outfit that was filthy and begrimed and looked a little too big for him, as if it wasn't his or as if he had recently lost a great deal of weight. His face was hollow, his cheeks sunken, and he wore no expression at all.

 

Suddenly a bird rose up near him and he came alert, grabbing for the gun, only to sink back wearily when he realized it was just a bird. He cast cast the gun aside in furious revulsion, and put his head into his hands.

 

Cody had a very good imagination, to Nat's ongoing dismay. This man's pose suggested to the young man that the grave was that of a friend or kin. Maybe they'd been in that ruined base when it got ruined. Cody felt a rush of sympathy, tempered by the quickness with which the man had reached for his gun.

 

Better to announce his presence. He took a deep breath, held his hands well away from his gun and called out, "I don't mean you any harm."

 

At his voice, the man raised his head again, looking at Cody as he stepped out of cover. His eyes were dark pits, their expression frightening. Cody suspected he was too young to understand it properly. He'd never lived through that kind of misery and hoped he never did. But the man's unhappiness was not enough to stop him picking up his gun again. He didn't fire it, he didn't even point it at Cody, but he clutched it as if it could protect him.

 

"Who are you?" Cody asked him. "Can I help? It seems you've had it bad. If you come back to the ship with me, I'll give you a good meal. You look like you could use one."

 

The stranger looked at him unspeaking. He didn't seem quite  _there_ , somehow. Maybe he'd lost his mind when his friend or relative died.

 

"It's all right," said Cody sympathetically. "I won't hurt you. I've got a gun, but anybody who goes around on a planet without one is just plain loco. I'm not going to draw it." He edged closer, under the man's suspicious eyes. The gun didn't waver.

 

Cody circled the grave, watching it out of the corner of his eyes. "Was it a friend of yours?" he asked.

 

The stranger looked at the grave. So he had understood the question. He didn't answer though, just looked at the grave a moment. Then he shuddered and turned back to Cody.

 

The young man took his canteen from his belt. "Are you thirsty? Would you like a drink?"

 

He offered the water, and the man stared at it blankly a moment, then grabbed it and opened it.

 

"Slowly," Cody urged. "Take it slow. If you haven't had any awhile, it will make you sick."

 

The dark man gulped two swallows then sipped it cautiously a time or two before holding it out to Cody again. He cast another glance at the grave. Each time, the darkness in his eyes seemed to grow.

 

"Come on," Cody urged. "Come back to the ship with me. I don't know how long you've been out here without food or water, but you can't stay here. He's safely buried, or she is. They'd understand you need to be safe too."

 

The stranger stood unmoving, and Cody plucked at his sleeve, and tried to pull him forward.

 

Momentary distaste flashed in the man's eyes, but he started to walk. Once begun, he whisked his arm free of the young man's grip and kept walking. That flash of defiance alone did more to convince Cody that there was a sane man trapped inside than anything else. He was shellshocked. He'd been badly hurt, and he wasn't ready to face his pain. Give him time and people to help him and he might be all right. Cody grinned to himself. What would Nat say to  _this_  stray? He'd warned Cody more than once about bringing home animals, visitors, possible new crew. Cody chuckled. His father would never turn this man away. He never did, not when someone needed help, though he groused about it long and hard to Cody in private afterwards.

 

"I'm taking you back to my ship," he explained carefully as if talking to someone of limited intelligence. "Nat, my father, is the captain, and he'll treat you right. He always does. His bark is worse'n his bite." He slanted a look at the stranger, and was delighted to see something like resentment simmer in his eyes. It might mean he didn't like being talked down to, mightn't it? Maybe if he kept up, the man would break down and tell him to stop.

 

"We've been repairing the drive," he went on. "It's up now and they're running checks. Good thing I found you when I did because we'll be leaving in a few hours. None of us much like Gauda Prime. I don't mean to offend you, but I don't like any planet much."

 

He shut up and waited for questions, but they only flashed briefly in the man's eyes. He understood what was said to him, but seemed uninclined to answer. Maybe he was mute, unable to talk.

 

In answer to the man's look, Cody went on happily. "I was born in space. I like it best. We're traders. Not free traders. We're not smugglers, really. We're an honest ship, but we can fight if we have to, so don't get any ideas."

 

At the threat, the man's eyes looked bored. He withdrew into himself again and Cody muttered a curse. That wasn't the way to do it.

 

He tried again. "I don't suppose you want to tell me your name? I'm Cody Aserton. My father's Nat Aserton and the rest of our crew are Kess Ring, who's the pilot, and Sarna, our computer tech. She's an Auron. We've adopted her into the family because Auron's lost now. It was a plague, they say. Sarna felt it die. It was horrible."

 

He saw the man flinch as if his words burned like acid, and he collected himself. "Sorry. Anyway, there's also Goran Wyle, who does weapons and handles the medical unit. Nat does all our business, and I'm supercargo. We take passengers sometimes, but mostly haul cargo. You can come with us, if you like. We'll find something for you to do. We'd find you work, if you know how to do it?" He shot a questioning look at the man.

 

No answer, of course. Cody was getting used to it. But the man hadn't turned away. He walked tamely at Cody's side, as if momentum alone kept him going.

 

As they approached the ship, Cody took his arm again. "I know you don't like it, but put up with it for a minute," he said. "I think you're going to have to let me have your gun for now. Nat's easygoing, but he doesn't like strangers with guns. I'll give it back to you later. I promise."

 

Suspicion and affront warred on the man's face, then he sighed and let Cody take the weapon. As soon as he had it, Cody raised his voice and bellowed, "Hello, the ship! Nat, we've got company."

 

His father appeared in the open hatch, a tall, silver haired man with wise eyes and a lean, whipcord body. He, too, went armed, but his gun was holstered. When he saw the stranger, he didn't draw, but came out quickly and joined them. "Another stray, boy?" he asked.

 

"Yessir. I don't know how long it's been since he's eaten. I found him--I found him sitting beside a grave. He doesn't talk," he warned his father. "But he knows what we're saying."

 

"Is that right?" Nat studied the man. "Can you tell me your name, son?" No reply, of course. Cody hadn't expected one. But Nat was made of sterner stuff. "Could you write it for me?" he persisted.

 

Affronted, the man didn't deny it. Nat gave his son a curious look but led the way into the ship. "That his gun?" he asked, nodding at the weapon Cody held.

 

"Yep. I didn't think you'd want him running around with it till we knew he was safe. He's fast, anyway."

 

"You a bounty hunter, son?" Nat asked.

 

The stranger didn't respond, but he flinched as if the question hurt. His head shifted fractionally in denial.

 

"Had to ask," Nat replied. "There's a plethora of them hereabouts. It's why we're here, after all. Brought somebody here. Man named Ritt. Know him?"

 

There was no recognition in the man's eyes.

 

"Well," Nat said judiciously, "since you're not talking, I'll give you a name, son. Makes it easier. Until you tell us different, you're Arden Aserton. I had a brother Arden, once. Before you were born, lad," he added to Cody, who knew of his uncle Arden, though he'd never seen him. "We'll get Sarna to run up some false papers for you. She's good at things like that. In the meantime, I think a shower and a change of clothes might not come amiss. Scout him out something, Cody. Then tell Goran to run a check on him. He looks the worse for wear. Shock, most likely." He led the way into the ship.

 

"I think so." It must be hard to lose people. He'd seen it in his father's eyes when Nat was remembering Cody's mother.

 

Curious, the rest of the crew looked up when they reached the flight deck. "Everything checks out on the drive," Sarna said practically, though her eyes lit with sympathy on Arden. "We can leave whenever you like, Nat. Who's this?" Sarna was tall and slender, in her middle thirties, which made her old enough to mother Cody, something that irritated him a little. She was a warmhearted woman, and her telepathy still surprised him. Her hair was fair, lighter than Cody's, and straight. She wore it short and fluffy around her face. She wasn't pretty, exactly, but something in her expression drew people to her.

 

Goran was middle-aged with grey hair at the temples. Big and solidly built, he was the type of man who looked like he could walk through a wall without doing any damage, except, perhaps, to the wall. His eyes were sly, and he was the least trusting of them all, always ready to suspect a prospective employer of setting a trap. He ran the weapons as if it were a challenge, but when it came to treating an injury, he proved unexpectedly gentle.

 

Kess Ring was younger man, only five years older than Cody. He wore his red hair long and straight in the manner of his homeworld, Gara Prime, a headband around his forehead to keep it from his eyes. He was good with a knife, and generally wore four or five of them strapped here and there. He could kill without hesitation, but when forced to kill, he spent time afterwards in meditation. He said it was his responsibility to speed the souls of the departed--at least the ones he'd killed himself--to the afterlife. Cody was fascinated by the meditation ritual, which Kess let him watch if he chose. It was a part of life to Kess, nothing secret.

 

He had spent a year at the Federation Space Academy, where he had learned his piloting skills, but he had been asked to leave because he was not considered officer material. He did not take orders unless he respected the person who gave them, and threats of court martial or punishment didn't daunt him. He'd calmly gone to the brig when ordered, sat cross legged on the floor, and chanted prayers to his ancestors. His classmates both mocked and feared him, and in the end, the Academy had given up on him and shipped him home. Unfailingly polite, Kess had given no reason for them to believe him a traitor. But he was a self possessed young man and they couldn't understand what went on behind his eyes.

 

Unwilling to alienate the Garas, the Federation let Kess go. He promptly took duty on the first ship which came to his homeworld, having developed a feel for ships that wouldn't go away.

 

"It was a hunger I had never understood," he explained to Cody once. "Had I never left Gara, I would have always been incomplete. It pulls me, more than the homeworld does. Someday, when I go to my ancestors, my ashes can return to Gara, but until then, I will stay with a ship."

 

"You didn't like taking orders at the Academy," Cody pointed out. "Why do you do it here?"

 

"Your father deserves respect," Kess explained. "Those officers didn't."

 

"How do you know if somebody deserves respect?" Cody had asked. He was open and impulsive and gave his friendship and his heart all too easily. He'd been disappointed a few times already, but it hadn't stopped him caring the next time.

 

"I know. It is like breathing. I see a man and I see his soul. That is why I sing the souls of those I have killed to the afterworld. I know them. Maybe they are enemies, but they are still men."

 

"Isn't it hard to kill somebody, then?" Cody asked. It didn't happen that often, but they'd been in jeopardy more than once and Kess' skills with knives had got them out of it.

 

"Yes, very hard, but necessary sometimes. If it becomes easy to kill, I will put my knives away and never use them again. It is a matter of honor, Cody. My people are very involved with honor."

 

Now Kess stood looking at Arden, his green eyes intent as he read the stranger. Pain ran through his eyes, and he put his hand on Arden's shoulder.

 

"I grieve with you," he said.

 

Arden jerked free, staring at Kess in surprise and alarm. He was silent, but a wary look ran across his face.

 

"He can't read your mind," Cody assured Arden. "He's a Gara. They feel souls."

 

That seemed even more alarming. Arden shook his head. No. He didn't want his soul read.

 

"I have done," Kess said gently. "He is worthy of respect, though he does not believe it. He struggles with his honor, but it wins inside. He would prefer that it is not so, but it is. He is in great pain, but I cannot tell the source. We must take him with us and give him shelter. It is the way it is."

 

Nat grinned. "You're accepted, Arden. That's the most probing we'll do until you're ready to talk to us. No one will invade your privacy again, but you must see that I couldn't offer you a berth on the ship without some kind of test. These people are my family, and this--" he put his hand on Cody's shoulder with easy affection--"is my troublesome son. He brings me problems all too often. In a way, it's a compliment, knowing I will deal with problems for him. I won't risk my family, and if I am to make you a part of it, I must know if you mean us harm."

 

Arden stared at him in some annoyance. Nat grinned. "You don't want a family. You don't want us at all, but you need us now. When you can tell us you don't want us or need us--and make Kess believe it--you can go your own way. This is Goran, our medic. He'll run a quick scan on you and make sure you're all right, and he'll see you're given a cabin and clean clothes. When you're ready, come back here. We're taking off in ten minutes. If you want to stay on GP, get off now."

 

Arden stood his ground. Wherever he wanted to be, it wasn't Gauda Prime.

 

Goran returned to the flight deck in time for take off, and slid into his position. They were largely ignored, though a Federation patrol came out for a look. Nat contacted them, explained he'd let off a passenger, and gave the passenger's name. The officer asked the names of the crew and their planets of origin. Nat rattled them off, including one Arden Aserton of Fessario Minor. Eventually they were released and headed for deep space.

 

"That was easier than I had expected," Nat remarked. "I thought we'd have to run the blockade."

 

"From what I've picked up, it's lessened in the past week," Sarna explained. "Our timing is excellent. How is Arden, Goran?"

 

"Malnourished. And he's suffered some type of shock to his system. I can't pin it down, but it's like he's had a massive stun. I put him on a stabilizing compound to balance his electrolytes and a vitamin solution. He'll need feeding up. But there are no obvious wounds and the only trace of illness is a slight cold, probably a result of living rough when he's not used to it. He's a spacer. He has the look."

 

"He seemed comfortable with the ship," Kess agreed. "But he is a very unhappy man."

 

"Yes," agreed Sarna. "I could feel that. Great bitterness, great unhappiness. You know I can't really read people, Nat, but he was practically broadcasting that. He's no telepath, but I think it's some kind of trauma--emotional trauma--that keeps him silent. Time may heal it."

 

Goran nodded. "He's a mental case, Nat. Keeping him may be more trouble than we bargained for."

 

"We must keep him anyway," Kess insisted as he finished feeding the coordinates. "There is a purpose behind this. I don't understand it, but I can feel it."

 

Nat cast a sideways glance at his son. Cody realized this might mean trouble, but his father intended to keep Arden for the time being anyway. He was glad. He felt a proprietary interest in Arden, as he did in all his strays. This one might take more effort than most, though. He hoped it wouldn't endanger his father and his friends.

 

Half an hour later Arden returned to the flight deck, casting a cool look around. Cody couldn't help noticing that he looked for each one's gun. When he had done, he met Nat's eyes defiantly as if to say, "Here I am," and sat down on one of the spare chairs near the back of the flight deck.

 

In the plain fatigues favored by the Saucy Sal's crew, he looked less threatinging, simply very tired. His eyes were shuttered but the look he cast around the flight deck was knowing. He'd been on ships before. It didn't take him long to turn to the computer terminal at his side and began an investigation.

 

Goran tensed, dropping a hand to his gunbutt, relaxing when Nat shook his head at him. Ignoring the crew, Arden ran a quick program, and Nat went to stand beside him, watching the small screen. After a few moments, he said, "He's called up the FBC news."

 

"There's not much new," Sarna said bitterly. She hated the Federation. "Just a lot of rebel crushing here and there. Some of it on GP before we got there. If we'd come sooner, we'd have been treated rougher, I think."

 

Arden ran through screen after screen of news, his face intent. Finally, he gave an exasperated sigh and shut it down again. Whatever news he sought wasn't available. Instead, he raised his eyes to Nat, keyed something into the program and gestured to it.

 

Nat bent to read it. "'Arden Aserton will do,'" he read aloud. "So you don't mean to tell us your name, son?"

 

Arden folded his arms across his chest.

 

"Probably just as well," Sarna said. "Maybe he's one of those rebels the Federation is hunting. Funny they didn't search us if anyone is missing."

 

"Maybe they think he's dead," Kess offered. "Is that it, do they think you dead?"

 

Arden inclined his head fractionally with a suspicious glance at Kess as if he feared the young Gara would take the information from him if he didn't volunteer it.

 

"Let it go, then," Nat said gently. "Arden, you look tired. I think you might as well sleep. We won't have you taking watches until Goran says you're fit again. I think you can manage. You know computers."

 

Cody grinned. Everybody knew enough to do what Arden had done, even on a this system, which was cobbled together from spare parts.

 

Arden rose and left the flight deck without looking back.

 

"Well, he's a sparkling presence," Goran muttered sarcastically. "Brightens my whole day, he does."

 

"Give him time," Kess urged automatically. "He's been through hell."

 

Goran nodded. "Right, lad. But...." He fell silent as Arden emerged again, crossed the flight deck to his abandoned weapon and picked it up. Stowing it under his arm as if to show he didn't mean to use it, he went away again.

 

The crew exchanged uneasy glances, but Kess merely smiled. "He won't hurt us," he said, "Unless we turn on him, and we're not planning to do that. Let it go. It will make him feel more comfortable."

 

Cody wondered, and when he went off watch, he headed for Arden's cabin and peered in. The man was sleeping. He hadn't bothered to undress but had removed his boots and stretched out on top of the bed. His arms were curled around himself protectively, and the gun was as far away from him as he could put it and still keep it in the cabin, braced in the far corner opposite the door. When Cody looked in, he didn't even stir, and the boy knew that meant he was very tired indeed. Anyone with his reflexes would normally awaken if a stranger entered.

 

He backed out and closed the door behind him. Arden was likely to mean trouble for all of them. But Cody didn't regret finding him.

 

#

 

Signing, Vila started another turn around their small cell, his hands clasped behind his back. From the cot opposite, Tarrant let out a groan. "Can't you  _ever_  stay still, Vila?" He sounded frustrated rather than hostile, and when Vila glanced at him, he shot him an apologetic look.

 

"Let him be," Dayna muttered without noticing. She and Soolin were sitting side by side, the picture of boredom, on one of the other cots. Dayna's feet were drawn up under her, her chin in her hands. Soolin leaned back against the wall, her feet stretched out before her, and she didn't draw them back when Vila passed her, forcing him to step over them.

 

"What does it matter anyway?" she asked, grimacing at Tarrant. "Here we are, on Earth, awaiting trial. They won't let us out of here, and they won't let us make statements at our trial. They'll give us the death sentence soon enough. Let him walk if he wants to. There'll be no chance of it after."

 

"You had to say that, didn't you?" Vila snapped, but without his old fire. "Reminding me about it only makes it worse."

 

"Pretending it isn't going to happen doesn't help either," Tarrant replied. "You could try getting us out of here."

 

"Like the three times I tried before?" Vila retorted. "They'll just bring us back again."

 

"I hate just sitting here," Tarrant replied. "It used to be different. When...."

 

"When Avon was alive," Dayna finished when he showed no inclination to complete his sentence.

 

Vila winced. He didn't like being reminded. Avon was dead and that was that, but as long as he was careful not to think of it, he could almost put it out of his mind. Being forced to recall it hurt, like a persistent belly ache.

 

Dayna's eyes were too bright. "I still can't believe it," she insisted. "I think they were lying."

 

"Lying? To whom?" Tarrant asked. "They were telling Servalan, not us. We were all supposed to be unconscious. Vila and I weren't meant to hear it."

 

"They why leave him there?" Soolin wondered. "That's what I can't understand."

 

"She said she didn't want martyrs," Vila reminded her. "But that's still wrong. She'd want to show them Blake's body, to prove he was finally dead. We never mattered as much as Blake did, not even Avon, though maybe he did to Servalan. I think she left him there on purpose, with Blake, because he'd gone and died on her, and she hated him for it."

 

Tarrant nodded. "Maybe. But it doesn't feel right to any of us. You don't suppose--it wasn't really Blake, do you?"

 

"It was Blake," Vila replied. "It looked like him and it sounded like him."

 

"So did the man who wound up with IMIPAK," Tarrant replied. "The only reason I can imagine Servalan not making a great show of producing Blake's body is because it wasn't Blake's body. It was a clone, or a look-alike, or shape changer. It was all her plan; Arlen, everything. To get us, to get Avon. And when it went wrong and he...died...then she cut her losses and took us. They'll probably viscast our execution."

 

"Fame," Vila muttered miserably. "Going out in a blaze of glory isn't quite how I meant it to end."

 

"And it won't. End that is." A new voice startled them and they spun to face the young officer who stood in the doorway. Vila didn't quite recognize him but something about him was familiar. His voice. Vila had heard it only once before, but it was engraved in his memory. 'This one is dead, too, Commissioner,' he had said.

 

"You're the one," Vila blurted out. "You were there. You checked Avon and told her he was dead. What are you doing here?"

 

The young man grinned suddenly. "I've come to get you out. Sorry it took so long, but there was a great deal to arrange before I could pull it off. You don't think any Space Major can walk in here and walk out again with the prisoners--with Sleer's prisoners?" He smiled. "Servalan's prisoners."

 

At Soolin's startled gasp, he nodded. "Yes, I know who she is. I also mean to bring her down if I can. She owes me. And how better than to remove her very special prisoners from right under her nose?"

 

"It's a trick," mumbled Dayna.

 

"Trick? What, so you can be, er, shot while trying to escape? No. I've a ship waiting and clearance is approved. We have ten minutes to get there and it will take us most of it. Come on, then, if you want free."

 

"Why should we trust you?"

 

"Because I've already helped you once."

 

"Not so we'd notice," Tarrant replied. "What did you do for us?"

 

"Lied to her. And set smaller charges than she ordered, so he could get out."

 

Vila froze, then he leaped forward and grasped the man's arm. "He? Avon? You mean Avon's  _alive_?!"

 

"Yes. Badly stunned, but likely to come out of it on his own. I set the charges, too, and he'd have a time of it, but he could dig himself free. Not an easy route for him, but the best I could do. Come on. I'll answer your questions when we're off Earth."

 

It was the best offer they'd had yet, though Vila's vivid imagination presented him with the shocking picture of Avon reviving in the ruined base prisoned with Blake's body. He shuddered. Maybe it was only one more way to break them, but what choice was there? Stay here and die. Go with the major and maybe die the sooner, but maybe break free.

 

"Let's go," he said, and not even Tarrant argued.

 

No one stopped them. The young major, who introduced himself as Cais Bracken, led them unerringly to a ship, bigger and more streamlined than the average pursuit ship. "It's fast," he said. "It's a--"

 

"Panther class fighting ship," Tarrant interrupted. "Fast indeed and well armed, but nothing like the Liberator, and slower than Scorpio. Still, it doesn't do to look a gift horse in the mouth. Come on. I can fly this."

 

"As can I," Cais agreed. "I'm coming, too. If I stay behind, I'll be a goner. She'll learn how you escaped eventually and it would take someone as good as Avon to cover my tracks."

 

"You're assuming that we're willing to trust you," Soolin remarked as they went aboard.

 

"I'm assuming that you've no choice. I know the clearances to get this ship off Earth and you don't." He grinned again.

 

"He's right," Vila said. "We can always get rid of him later if we have to."

 

"You won't," Cais replied. "Don't worry. I know you don't trust me, but I do have credentials. Excellent ones. But I have to take you to them. For that long, you'll have to bear with me."

 

"What credentials?" asked Dayna suspiciously.

 

"You'll have to see them. You wouldn't believe me otherwise. But first, to get away." He activated the comm and contacted Main Control. In a remarkably short time, the ship was in space.

 

"First things first," said Cais as he stood back to allow Tarrant at the controls. "Take us wherever you like. In the meantime, the rest of your crew can look for homing devices. You can even scan me if you like. There's a well equipped medical unit on board. Servalan knew about the one on Liberator and tried to match it here. She couldn't duplicate your Zen's auto repairs but she did what she could. This was to be her personal ship. The base believes her on board, which is why they let us take off. You see, I'm her personal pilot, body guard, etc. She trusts me--as much as that tin plated bitch could trust anyone. Little does she know."

 

Vindictiveness flashed in his eyes. Vila studied him. "What did she do to you?" he asked.

 

"To me? She killed my brother." He said it flatly as if it were too private to discuss, but it didn't mask the hate in his eyes. "I didn't think about joining the rebels until that happened, and when it did, I started thinking. That was five years ago, and I've worked for your side ever since. I let myself get close to her, knowing it might be useful one day, that I might be able to hurt her the way she hurt me. I didn't want to kill her outright. The dead don't suffer."

 

"I've set our course," Tarrant reported. "Now it's time to check the ship."

 

They found three homing beacons on board and neutralized them carefully. Cais himself was free of any kind of locator. They set watches to make sure he would never be alone on the flight deck, and they neutralized the computer link in Cais' cabin. "If you're what you say you are, you won't object to being locked in at night," Tarrant told him.

 

"Go ahead. In your place, I'd not trust anyone either."

 

"One other thing," Tarrant remembered. "You said you had credentials. Something we'd believe if we saw it. Where are your credentials, exactly?"

 

"On Ralessa. It's in the 7th sector. That's where Avalon has her headquarters. You do know Avalon? She's trying to coordinate rebel efforts in the outer worlds."

 

"I know her," agreed Vila. There was no point in keeping it secret. "We haven't heard anything about her lately, though. Not since the Andromedan War. Keeping a low profile, like as not. If she's not dead, that is."

 

"She's not dead. She recruited me. I think she'll verify my identity, and if you know her, Vila, all the better."

 

"And if we go there and it's a trap?" Soolin asked suspiciously.

 

"Oh, come, Soolin. Why bother to free you and then catch you again? Just so you can say you know Avalon? Surely that's a bit convoluted even for Servalan."

 

"That's true," Tarrant replied. "But there's more to this than you're telling."

 

"Yes, that's true. I  _can't_  tell you more, not until Avalon vouches for you. We know who you are--that's proven. What we don't know is whose side you're on these days. Avon shot Blake, after all."

 

"Because Blake made him think it was a set-up," Vila insisted hotly, surprised to find himself defending Avon. "Tarrant came in and said Blake had sold us all. Avon doesn't take kindly to betrayals. He's been falling apart anyway, and then to hear that." He heaved a vast sigh. "Well, he'd know that much anyway, if that Arlen was there," he defended himself to his shipmates. "And you can just bet Servalan knows how it is with him. He needed Blake. But when he got him, Blake had changed too much. Avon should have known better. Everything changes."

 

Cais nodded soberly. "I know, Vila. But it's because of that I'm not ready to take chances. I need Avalon to vouch for you. We can go there."

 

"No," said Tarrant abruptly. "We go to Gauda Prime first. If Avon's alive, we have to rescue him." He looked determined to have his way, and Vila stared at him in some surprise. Avon and Tarrant hadn't really been close. But Avon had told Tarrant, "I'm glad you made it," after the  _Scorpio_ crash, and had meant it. Tarrant had warned Blake that Avon had sold him, and Avon had taken his word for it. Maybe Tarrant felt he must make amends.

 

"Tarrant's right," Dayna agreed. "We go to Gauda Prime."

 

"All right," Cais conceded, nodding. "But once we've got Avon, we go to Avalon."

 

"Fair enough," said Tarrant and turned back to check his course. Vila wasn't the least bit surprised to find that they were already headed for GP.

 

That reminded him of yet another reason for going there. Orac. Avon alone had known where he concealed the little computer, and Avon was dead. Now it seemed he wasn't, but if he'd not retrieved Orac, then they would do it for him. Vila wondered if Avon hadn't found Orac already and sought out that bolthole he'd wanted.

 

With his head start, Avon could have vanished without a trace.

 

#

 

"Orac," said Tarrant, looking into the air duct where Avon had concealed the little computer. It sat there humming away merrily, key intact, and at the sound of Tarrant's voice, the computer seemed to pick up tempo.

 

"Well, really! I have been abandoned in this wreckage for far too long already. I have monitored Federation transmissions and have learned of your escape from prison on Earth. That was some time ago. Why did it take you so long to find me?"

 

"Because we didn't know where to look, you piece of junk," Vila complained. "And because someone blew up this base around you."

 

The thief glanced around the sagging room. "We only came back for Avon. You were an afterthought. But Avon's not here."

 

It had taken the narrow tunnel out of the ruined base to convince them did that Avon had survived. That belief had been intensified when they found no trace of Blake's body, or Avon's, but a search of the surrounding area revealed a recent grave. Avon had broken free and brought Blake with him. But he hadn't returned for Orac, and that worried Vila. Looking around the dim chamber, he said, "We'd better get Orac out of here. This place could come down on our heads. I don't like it here."

 

"Neither do I," agreed Tarrant, hauling Orac free. "All right, Orac," he said as he started for the doorway, trailed by the others, "I've a task for you. I want you to find Avon."

 

"That will take some time. I was able to monitor this base while Avon struggled to free himself. Once he left, taking Blake's body, I could not monitor his location. I will scan all ships which departed after that date and study Federation records in case he has been arrested. He may be free on this world. Kindly do not disturb me while I search."

 

"We won't," Vila said. "But check one other thing, too. See if you can find any word of Avalon on Ralessa."

 

"Very well. I am shutting down now."

 

"That might satisfy you," Cais said. He was unarmed, for the others had come to the conclusion that the entire escape might have been a plan to find Orac. But no one had followed them and no one had intercepted them in the two days they had spent searching the base. It looked as if Cais had been telling the truth, though they couldn't be certain of that until they were free of Gauda Prime.

 

"It might," agreed Soolin as they stepped out into the fresh air. "But then it might not. Let's go back to the ship."

 

Orac started to search for Avon, but without any immediate success. Worried about remaining on Gauda Prime, they set a course for Ralessa, half afraid they were abandoning Avon, but lacking proof that he was present. Vila heaved a great sigh as they left GP behind. It was like their search for Blake. The galaxy was a big place for one man to be lost in. Finding him might not solve their problems, but it might help Avon. Though Vila didn't admit it to the others, he was determined to find Avon, if it took years. He watched GP shrink in the viewscreen and turned to find Tarrant's knowing eyes upon him. For a moment, he and the young pilot exchanged an understanding look.

 

"I hope you're telling us the truth," Dayna said to Cais.

 

Vila hoped so, too. He'd come to like the young rebel agent, to believe him, and to understand the pressures of the dangerous game of working his way into Servalan's confidence. All of them got on well with him but half feared they might be betrayed again. It created an uncomfortable atmosphere of tension on the ship.

 

#

 

Arden Aserton was sharing a watch with Sarna, the two of them sitting in companionable silence on the flight deck. They had made two short cargo runs since Arden had joined the crew, and he no longer looked quite so lean and feral. His health had come back and the tremors that had sometimes made his hands quiver had gone. Goran said that was due to whatever had been done to him, likely a heavy duty stun charge, and Arden had agreed. Yes, it was a stun charge. But he did not say so. He was not ready to speak to these people, and if it came to that, they were content with his silence. He found that perplexing.

 

He was content to be Arden Aserton, supposed brother to Nat and honorary uncle to Cody, and by adoption, kin to the rest of the crew, who regarded themselves as one big happy family. Arden had never really experienced a happy family, though he'd once come close to it, on a ship called Liberator. But no, that was another time, another life. He didn't let himself think about it. It was past, never to be remembered. Now he was here with these people who asked remarkably few questions.

 

At first, he had been inclined to scorn their easy trust, but as time passed, he realized Kess's soul reading was valid and accurate. Kess would know if he meant them harm, and Kess would not hesitate to kill him if need be. The others welcomed him easily, though Goran, the most suspicious of them, still watched him. Arden was glad of that. It meant that these people were protected from their own foolishness. He would prefer that no one hurt them.

 

Not even himself.

 

Midway into the first cargo run, he had made himself look at the gun that sat in the corner of his cabin. He had needed it on Gauda Prime. He didn't need it now. The sight of it brought back the edges of memories he couldn't face. They hovered at the edges of his awareness, ready to burst into full view if he turned to look at them, but he wouldn't allow them to touch his consciousness. He remembered the grave and knew that the gun and the grave were connected. Blake. They were connected with Blake.

 

But Blake was a forbidden subject, so he shoved the memory deeper into the sealed-away room. Blake was not to be thought of. Other people were not to be thought of. And most importantly, a man named Avon was never to be thought of. Instead there was Arden Aserton, a stranger to him, but a man with whom he might become comfortable in time. If he was lucky.

 

There were nightmares, but he didn't remember them, and he was grateful. Waking up shaking in the darkness of his cabin, he tasted a memory of fear and pain and terror, and he would lie shaking, hoping he would never remembered it. So one day, he gave the gun to Nat.

 

The captain, his 'brother', took it gravely. "Do you want me to keep it for you?"

 

Arden had begun to permit himself to respond to simple questions with a nod or a shake of his head. Now he responded in the negative, pointing to the nearest airlock.

 

Nat's face was understanding. Once Arden would have been annoyed at such perception, considering it a violation of his privacy, but now he was glad of it. Nat wouldn't force him to try to speak, to emerge from his protection. Nat was simply available, to talk when the silence seemed too thick, or to sit in easy companionship when the shadows pressed too close and Arden didn't want to be alone.

 

He needed that. He needed a brother. Once there had been a real brother, but that was long ago, not part of the pain. In the heart of the pain had been someone else. Blake. Someone who might have been a brother, someone who might have stood at his side if the fates had been kind. But fates were never kind, never until now.

 

Arden looked at the Auron woman who shared the watch with him. She was an easier companion than he had expected. Once she had tried telepathy, but he had shrunk from it, and from the stabbing pain that disturbed the padding he wrapped around himself. She had known, in that way that Cally had known. Not a form of mind reading, simply a sense of understanding that went with telepathy. The telepath read more than thoughts. Once Arden would have resented it but he didn't resent it now. As long as she avoided telepathy, he was comfortable with her. One day she had said, "You'd rather I didn't use my telepathy, wouldn't you, Arden?" and he had nodded. After that, he could relax with her, as much as he could with anyone.

 

The crew had been delighted to learn how good he was with computers, and he had paid his way by stripping down various systems, repairing and enhancing them and generally improving the entire functioning of the ship. Cody had watched, fascinated, and had offered to help. The boy was good for his age, so Arden permitted it, actually grateful for the company. Cody chattered enthusiastically about anything that occurred to him and Arden enjoyed the mindless prattle. It reminded him of someone who had never hurt him. Vila.

 

But there were edges on that memory, too. Better to be Arden, Nat's brother, Cody's uncle, than to be a man with a past.

 

"Will it bother you if I talk about Auron?" Sarna asked him suddenly.

 

He looked up, experiencing the familiar pain he always felt when memories came too close. He could hold them away if he worked at it. There were memories about dead Auron, too, but there were memories everywhere, and Arden Aserton had never been to Auron. He gave her an encouraging look. There were some things that he did to pay a debt. Not Arden's debt, but that of the man he would not allow himself to be. Until those debts were paid, he was forced to be Arden. So he turned his face to Sarna and waited.

 

"I was away from home when the plague struck," she said. "But not far away to be spared the death agony of my people. There are few of us left, few Aurons. Some of us have been in touch with each other. It's rather easy for a telepath. I send out a call for my people every planet we visit. You don't know how it feels to hear only emptiness inside." She stopped and looked at him carefully. "Perhaps you might, after all."

 

He avoided her eyes. She was more right than she knew: that was why he was Arden. He nodded at her to go on.

 

"I always took it for granted," she said, "Even after I came among humans and was with people who could not speak to my mind, the sense of my people was always with me. Now, there is nothing, just faint echoes. There are not enough Aurons to matter. We were an isolationist people of late years, and there were too few of us offworld when it happened. If only I could find more of my people. I wouldn't leave here, for this is my home now, but sometimes, I crave others of my kind."

 

He looked at her measuringly, then he went to the computer. The words, "You might try the planet Kaarn," appeared on the main screen.

 

"Arden? Aurons?"

 

He inclined his head. It might do him good to go there, though Patar and Franton would remember the man he had once been. He needn't visit them, of course. He could remain on the ship while Sarna sought her people. It seemed a foregone conclusion that they would go to Kaarn, for Sarna flung herself at the terminal and started calling up information. All that was generally known was its position and the report that it was uninhabited. The Auron put up a star chart and traced routes, her face glowing with excitement.

 

"I will try," she said. "It is much too far to reach, but I might sense life there." She closed her eyes and sank into a near trance. For a long time, she was still, then she opened her eyes as if awakening from a long nap. "Yes, Arden. Yes. My people are there. I cannot talk to them, not so far away, not alone, but I can sense them. We must go there. I will ask Nat."

 

"Ask me what?" The captain appeared in the entrance, smiling. "Sarna, you look excited."

 

"Arden knows of an Auron colony. It's true. There are those of my people there. Please, Nat, might we go looking for them, after we deliver our cargo?"

 

Nat cast a startled look at Arden, then he studied the star charts. "Kaarn? Yes, that's not too far for us to manage. We'll see if we can pick up something in that direction to help pay our way, but if not, we'll go anyway. You've done Sarna a real favor, Arden. I don't know how you know about it. You've been there?"

 

Arden nodded. He felt no inclination to explain, nor did he intend to jeopardize his place with these people by revealing his true identity. They would not betray him, but it would alter the fabric of his existence. As Arden, he was safe, and he couldn't change yet. Possibly never.

 

"I'll call the others up here and make plans. Is there anything else you can tell us that might be helpful?"

 

Arden considered it. Then he returned to the keyboard. "Servalan engineered the plague," he keyed in. "The Federation must not learn of Kaarn."

 

"Servalan!" spat Sarna in a fine rage. "That bitch! Why would she do it? For Cally? Do you know of Cally? She was one of us, but she followed Blake. My people didn't approve of her, but there was respect for her. I can see Servalan going after Cally as a way to Blake."

 

Arden rose carefully and started for the entrance. Nat put out a hand to stop him. "No matter why," he said carefully, studying his silent 'brother' carefully. "We'll go. Sarna needs her people." He punched the shipwide comm. "Attention, people. Come to the flight deck, if you will. We have plans to make."

 

When he released the button, he turned to Arden. "I know this is hard for you. You were a rebel, weren't you? Had you met her? Cally? The word is she's dead. Sarna was upset."

 

Arden didn't respond. Instead he went to his customary position and sat down, distancing himself from the others. Nat exchanged a questioning glance with Sarna, then turned to greet the others as they began to arrive.

 

"What is it, Father?" Cody asked, charging onto the flight deck as if any urgent summons could only mean good--and exciting--news.

 

"We're going to Kaarn, as soon as we deliver our cargo," Nat replied, raising his voice a little so that Goran and Kess, who arrived buttoning up his shirt, barefooted and free of knives, might hear. "We're looking for Aurons."

 

#

 

Ralessa was a water world in the 7th sector, remote and far from any Federation base. No space lanes passed nearby, and the closest Federation presence was three systems away, a communications relay base. As the Scorpio crew and Cais Bracken entered the system, they detected no settlements until Cais sent a coded signal. The response came promptly. Two minutes later, they had direct contact. The main screen came to life and Avalon herself looked out of it. She had changed very little though there were a few grey hairs, but she was the woman Vila remembered, first as an android and then as herself.

 

"Cais? Did you get them? You weren't followed?"

 

The agent activated the visual transmitter and drew Vila beside him. "What does it look like?"

 

"Vila!" cried Avalon in great delight. "It's wonderful to see you. Are the others with you? Avon? Cally?"

 

"No," said Vila. "Cally--Cally's dead. And Avon--well, he's alive, but we've lost him. Cais can explain. He managed to save him from Servalan, but in the process, Avon went off someplace. We'll find him. Orac's looking."

 

"Orac!" she exclaimed in delight. "You have Orac?"

 

Vila's eyes narrowed, and he exchanged a suspicious look with Tarrant. "How do you know about Orac? We didn't have it when we picked you up."

 

"From Blake," she said promptly. "I heard of it from Blake."

 

Cais laughed. "Avalon, these folks were inclined to doubt me. I think it might be the uniform. I'll be glad to be rid of it. But I've promised them credentials. They'll have trouble believing it at first, but I think it'll help. Is he there?"

 

"He's here," she replied, and Vila felt a surge of excitement. Avon? Could Avalon have located Avon?

 

But the man who stepped into the picture beside Avalon was not Avon. He was bigger, his hair was curly, and he looked devastatingly familiar. He saw Vila's openmouthed stare and he burst out laughing. "Hello, Vila. Yes, it's me."

 

"Blake!" cried Vila in astonished disbelief.

 

"It can't be Blake," Tarrant objected. "He's dead." Then his eyes narrowed. "No. That wasn't Blake. It couldn't have been. Nothing you told me about Blake could have matched that. The real Blake wouldn't have mishandled Avon so badly."

 

"I've heard there was a double running around," admitted Blake. "Come down and we'll reason it out. Avalon can vouch for me. She rescued me after Star One, and I've worked with her ever since. Lately we've started picking up rumors about 'me', that I'd established a base on one of the outer worlds."

 

"Gauda Prime," said Dayna flatly.

 

"Yes. We meant to investigate, but before we could, Avalon heard that Cais was bringing you here. So we waited. He couldn't give much information, but he said you'd been on Gauda Prime. Have you no idea where Avon is?"

 

The urgency of the question felt right to Vila. Avon and Blake had constantly disagreed, but they had always been concerned for each other, though Avon would not have so described it. Even when Avon was maddest at Blake, he would go out of his way to rescue him, as he had done on Horizon, as he had intended on Star One, remaining on the planet to seek out Blake and Cally, so soon after he had told Blake he wanted free of him. Vila had never quite understood it, but here it was again, in Blake's dark, worried eyes.

 

"I'll tell you face to face," said Vila solemnly. "You won't like it."

 

"I already don't."

 

#

 

Roj Blake waited eagerly for the arrival of Vila and the others, and the moment the ship was down and the hatch opened, he went charging in, encountering Vila in the entrance.

 

"Blake!" cried the thief zestfully and flung his arms around him. Blake laughed and engulfed him in a bearhug, pounding his back.

 

"It's good to see you, Vila. It seems like more than two years since we last met."

 

"Where were you?" Vila asked suspiciously, drawing back and staring at Blake through narrowed eyes. "We looked for you. We followed every lead. The longer we went without finding you, the harder it was on Avon."

 

"He's right," said a curly haired young man, stopping beside them. "Blake? I'm Tarrant. Perhaps you've heard of me."

 

"I've heard of all of you. We followed your actions whenever we could. We didn't know Avon was looking for me, though."

 

"Then you're a fool," snapped the black girl, Dayna. "What else would you expect, Blake, that he'd ignore you and forget about you?"

 

"I thought he'd expect me to wallow in blood up to my armpits without him. He wanted free of me. I gave him what he wanted."

 

"Dayna's right. You're a fool!" Soolin glared at him. "Tell him about Terminal, one of you," she urged.

 

Tarrant complied dramatically, describing the events on the artificial planet colorfully and with a great deal of sympathy. "I don't know what Avon said to you when he left, Blake, but you should have seen his face when Servalan told him you were dead. I wasn't very sympathetic to him at the moment. He'd ridden roughshod over us to get to you. But the look in his eyes made that seem a lot less important. He was bleeding to death. I don't think he stopped after that. I think that's why he shot you."

 

" _Shot_  me!" Blake stared at the young pilot in dismay. "What the hell are you talking about?"

 

"The other Blake, the one on GP? He told Avon he set us up and was waiting for him. It looked like a trap. When I said he'd sold us, the fake Blake didn't even correct him. He played around with words, made Avon shoot him." Tarrant sighed. "They shot us all, but we were just stunned. I'm told Avon straddled 'your' body and went down fighting. He took enough stun charges to kill him. That's why Cais could fool Servalan into believing he was dead. He thought it would give Avon a chance to escape, and that the rest of us wouldn't be as carefully guarded. But it meant leaving Avon trapped with the other Blake's body."

 

Blake winced. This was far worse than he'd thought. He had tried to convince himself for the past two years that he hadn't needed Avon, that he hadn't missed him, but he'd failed miserably. Jenna had often taken him to task about it. He suspected she resented the influence Avon had on him. But now he realized that in his own hurt feelings, he had failed to consider Avon properly. He had been wrong, and Avon had paid the price. It seemed Avon always paid it. Now he was god-knows-where, alone, in danger from every Federation officer and bounty hunter on that dangerous planet, and even if he'd won free of Gauda Prime, he was probably no safer where he was.

 

"I've got a lot to answer for," he said grimly. "Is Orac looking for him?"

 

"Yes, but it's found nothing yet," said Vila. "It gets quite huffy when we ask. I think it's actually worried about Avon. After all, Avon always understood Orac best."

 

Blake grinned sadly. "I know. Someone get Orac, and we'll go talk to Avalon. We'll have to decide the best way to find him."

 

"It's past time," Soolin told him coolly. "Well past time."

 

"I know, Soolin," he agreed penitantly, leading them from the ship. "I know."

 

#

 

Arden didn't want to go to Kaarn or to face the memories the place would trigger. But he couldn't deny Sarna her reunion with her people, even if the vast bulk of them were children. In the last months aboard the Liberator, Cally had contacted every Auron she found and routed them to Kaarn, hoping to make it easier for her people to survive as a race. Liberator had returned twice, bringing supplies and, once, people, though Avon had never liked transporting passengers. Arden winced and shut the memories away again. That was another time. This was now. But it meant that Franton and Patar--and some of the other residents--might just recognize Arden Aserton. He meant to avoid them if at all possible.

 

As they neared the planet, Sarna made contact telepathically since the message would not be overheard, detected, remarked upon by Federation personnel, glowing with eager enthusiasm as she received a response. Arden recognized the look upon her face. "It's true," she cried aloud. "My people are here. They welcome us. Nat, we must go down."

 

Receiving the coordinates telepathically, Nat landed the Saucy Sal neatly on the landing pad. Activating the external cameras, he called up a view of the place, and Arden, who remembered a simple, pastoral world, was somewhat surprised to see how much it had grown since his last visit. It had the prefabricated look of settlements on frontier planets, but it was starting to grow a more permanent face.

 

The external cameras revealed several people approaching the ship, causing Arden to draw back as if he expected them to see him--and feared it. He was sure the gesture wasn't lost on Nat, who was a perceptive man. The crew would protect him from a threat, but they wouldn't expect him to need it from his supposed allies, and they'd probably be delighted to learn his true identity. After that, his illusory safety would vanish and they'd never let him remain Arden. Only as Arden was he really safe. He regretted the impulse that had brought him here.

 

But Sarna's face was alight with joy. So Cally might have looked upon finding some of her people after a long absense. Arden had to be content with that--it was all he had left.

 

Nat joined him. "You don't want to meet them, do you?"

 

He shook his head, avoiding the older man's eyes.

 

"I know you aren't comfortable with telepathy. Is it that?"

 

He could have nodded and Nat might have believed him, but he would not lie to his brother. He shook his head again in reluctant denial.

 

"I think you'd rather stay aboard," said Nat thoughtfully. "Away from them. But I don't know it's a good idea."

 

Arden drew back in some alarm. Nat smiled a little. "Don't worry about the people out there. Sarna has--"

 

 _Told them about me!_  He gripped Nat's arm. He didn't want that.

 

"She has given nothing away," Nat assured him, patting the hand that clasped his arm. That was enough to make Arden free him and pull back. Nat nodded. "She said they were to leave you alone."

 

Arden suspected she had given them a capsulized story about finding him sitting silent beside a grave and warned them to display tact. It irritated him, but he was grateful for it all the same. Now the only problem remained Franton herself.

 

Perhaps he could survive the experience, but he would need to be wary.

 

Cody opened the hatch and escorted two women on board. One of them was none other than Clinician Franton, whose eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of Arden. She concealed it at once, though, turning to Nat to be introduced as Sarna went to greet her. Their own introductions must have taken place already, within their heads.

 

The second woman looked a great deal like Cally.

 

Arden hadn't expected that, and his heart lurched, the color draining from his face as he looked at her. She wasn't Cally, of course. She was merely a similar type, with a long face, similar curls and an aura of calm. Put them side by side and anyone could tell them apart. Within the treacherous reaches of his memory, the task was harder.

 

Nat introduced his crew, unaware of Arden's pain. No, he wouldn't be unaware of it, but he would say nothing in public. Later, when all this was behind him, he might talk to Arden privately, hoping, as he always did, for the one thing that would break through Arden's enforced silence and allow him to speak of his pain. Arden doubted it would ever happen.

 

"Franton is in charge of this settlement," he explained to the crew. "And this is her assistant, Rena."

 

At first Arden had suspected Rena might be a clone sister of Cally's, but now he wasn't so certain. The resemblance might be strong simply because he'd wanted it. Cally was dead. Someone else, Avon, had seen her crushed body long ago, on a planet called Terminal. No! He refused to remember.

 

Franton looked at Arden speculatively when she heard Nat speak his name. Something flashed in her eyes. Recognition. If she said nothing now, she might speak later to others, who might do him harm. He didn't know what others she might speak to, for the little he had found on the news viscasts indicated the others--Avon's crew--had been captured. But further news was remarkably spotty, and of late they had not been mentioned at all. he didn't understand it. Avon might have reasoned it through, but Arden Aserton could make little sense of it. He could hardly risk his 'family' to go to Earth for a one-man rescue. It would be impossible, though Blake would have attempted it.

 

Arden winced. Blake refused to stay tidily in the dark recesses of his memory, but popped up from time to time; falling, dying, decaying, dead. Buried. He shoved it deep again and became Arden once more. He nodded politely to Franton and Rena as if confronting change-met strangers.

 

Her eyes held pity, and he resented it, but not enough to do anything about it. He looked at her stonily a moment, then turned away. Beside him, Cody shifted closer in an overt display of loyalty. The boy seemed prepared to defend him against all comers, even when he didn't understand the threat.

 

"We're glad to find another of us," Franton said aloud to Sarna. "We are too few these days. We owe the children to the crew of the Liberator, who saved us and brought us here. They also brought some of the later settlers or directed them here. You must come and see our base. Perhaps we could hire you to run supplies for us occasionally. We wouldn't be able to pay the top rate yet, but we would pay."

 

"We would be honored," said Nat, and behind him, Kess, who always acted as his bodyguard in new situations, nodded in agreement. Arden wondered if he had read the souls of Franton and Rena and found them worthy of his respect.

 

They learned that a banquet was to be held their honor. Franton was probably organizing it as she spoke; one advantage of telepathy. "We always welcome newcomers, and those of our people. Sarna, you are always welcome here. Should you choose to settle with us, you would have a place."

 

"I can't," Sarna replied aloud. "Though I'll visit as often as possible. I have a place already and I won't give it up. But being an exile is never easy, even among family. Knowing you are here will make the difference." She smiled at Arden. //Thank you.//

 

Franton gave them a tour of the settlement. Though it was small and primitive yet, the gene stock had been preserved with high tech equipment spared by the  _Liberator_ , and had been carefully maintained. Franton explained that the children would be brought along at different times over a period of several years. Up to a point the timing could be regulated. Already some six hundred of the children had been 'born' and were cared for in special nurseries. The crew was fascinated, especially Kess.

 

"I wasn't certain," he told Franton frankly. "I am of the Gara. We read souls. I have always wondered about the souls of clones, if they would all be the same, if they would be missing entirely. I could not help but wonder. I knew that Sarna's soul was a shining one, beautiful and serene, but I was never certain of the rest. Yet each is different. Even among the clones, each baby has his own soul. It is truly beautiful, and I thank you for the experience."

 

Franton smiled at him in delight. "Thank you. We have never been able to entirely convince non-Aurons of the truth of that. Perhaps at birth, there are more similarities than differences, but we, here, have made special efforts. We separate the clones at bith. They are not linked in the way of human identical twins, for example. They are complete. They are alike, but empty slates, on which we write different experiences. Of a clone grouping of six, each will be with different people, seeing different instructors, learning different skills. You saw how it worked with Cal--Cally. She was known to many humans as a rebel," she corrected, shooting an apologetic look at Arden. "Yet her clone sister Zelda was my assistant. They were identical in appearance, and similar in personality, but they were two different and distinct people."

 

Arden avoided her eyes. Cody missed his reaction and started talking eagerly about Cally and the Liberator. Franton listened, though her eyes slipped back to Arden.

 

As they continued the tour, Franton fell into step with Nat. "Your friend 'Arden' doesn't speak?" she asked very quietly, but Arden heard her.

 

"No. He's had a bad experience. We give him support, and I hope you will, too. He didn't want to come here, but he found a way to tell Sarna about you. I realize you know him, Clinician. I wish you'd not pressure him. Give him the time he needs."

 

"I would never hurt him," Franton agreed. "I am in his debt. But there is someone...." her voice lowered and became inaudible. Arden realized she had slipped into telepathy. He watched them suspiciously, expecting to find himself betrayed.

 

Cody fell into step beside him. "You look worried. Nat won't betray you."

 

 _How did you know--_. He nearly spoke the words aloud, the first time he'd felt so compelled. But Cody's words had come alarmingly close to mind-reading, and he didn't expect that from the boy. Kess, perhaps, or possibly Sarna, might read his worries so well, but he hadn't expected it from Cody, who, while warmhearted and impulsive, was as subtle as a neutron blaster.

 

Cody grinned at him. "I could guess what you were thinking. You're a suspicious man, Arden. Nobody's going to hurt you." He hesitated, thinking hard. "Well, not on purpose anyway. I know you don't like being here. Did you ever meet Cally?"

 

Arden flinched away from the question and turned to look at Nat and Franton once more. The Auron woman was still speaking earnestly, and Nat kept nodding, though he looked a little worried. Finally, though, he nodded more decisively and turned to shoot a penetrating look at Arden.

 

Arden met the look with a surge of defiance. He would not be discussed.

 

But it seemed he had misread the look. Nat and Franton joined them. "There's no need for you to continue the tour," Franton said gently. "Your brother informs me you've had a hard time lately, and we have a lot of ground to cover. Perhaps you would like to wait in our communications area. You would be able to monitor ships approaching, and the one on duty could answer your questions. Like you, she has little to say, but perhaps that is as well."

 

It was the best offer he'd had yet, and it would take him out from under Franton's penetrating eye. He nodded once.

 

She took his arm, releasing it quickly when he stiffened, and led the way to a small building set not too far from the spaceport. Opening the door, she said cheerfully, "Good morning, dear. I've a visitor for you, if you don't mind. He is called Arden."

 

"I don't mind, Franton." The voice sounded so much like Cally's that he nearly balked, but perhaps that was his imagination, as Rena's face had been. Rena was not Cally's clone sister. Franton would not do anything so drastic to him.

 

Lowering her voice, the woman at his side said, "Be gentle with her, Arden. Like you, she has known hard times."

 

Then she slipped away without looking back.

 

Arden frowned after her, then he entered the room. The woman at the console did not look up. Her slender shoulders were erect and rigid, a hand reaching out to adjust a toggle. Her hair was like Cally's, but much shorter, tiny curls springing up along the nape of her neck.

 

Warned by her voice, he was not surprised to see her wearing Cally's face. Cally! It was Cally. He had met Zelda and had seen the creature from the tomb ship who had taken Cally's form and had never for an instant mistaken either of them for the real thing. But this woman was Cally. He saw it in the way her lips curled into a smile, the way her eyes glowed with light and shadow. She was Cally and she was alive! He teetered on the brink of becoming Avon again, feeling his heart thudding in his chest. Raw panic pumped through his veins and he found it hard to catch his breath. He couldn't face this. He wasn't ready.

 

Only then did he see her look of polite inquiry fade to be succeeded by concern. "Are you all right?" she asked as if speaking to a stranger. She wasn't Cally after all. He had been betrayed by the resemblance into believing her alive. He knew she was dead. He had seen it once, somewhere. Dead. Crushed and dead.

 

Shoving away the treacherous memory, he collected himself and drew the essence of Arden around him once more, gesturing her to return to her seat.

 

"You should sit down, too," she said in Cally's voice. "Franton said you had been ill? Come in and sit down. They have me working here because I, too, have been ill." She brushed back the hair that lay upon her forehead to reveal a faded scar. It had healed quite cleanly some time ago, but the technology to wipe it away did not yet exist here. "I know who I am," she explained quite seriously, "But I do not remember who I am. They say I may never remember."

 

He sat down abruptly. Amnesia? That would explain her failure to recognize him. How to know? He opened his mouth, but words would not come. Determined, he turned to the nearest screen. "Your name?" he keyed in.

 

"Oh, I'm sorry. Franton told me your name, but failed to mention mine. I am Cally."

 

The room suddenly revolved before his eyes and darkness closed around him. Shuddering, he struggled to hold onto Arden, hearing the words run over and over in his mind. "I am Cally. I am Cally. I am Cally." No. She could not be Cally. Cally was dead.

 

She bent over him, familiar in her concern. "Arden? Shall I fetch a medic?"

 

He batted her hands away and struggled to steady himself. From the part of him he kept at bay, he found cool disdain and put it on like a coat. At the sight of it, a slight furrow chased its way between her brows. "For just a moment," she said curiously, "you looked familiar, as if we had met before. Tell me, please, have we met? I want to remember everything, even if it is painful. Did Franton bring you here on purpose, to jog my memory?"

 

She must have done. No matter what Nat had explained to her, she could not guess how much Arden was forced to seal away. Or perhaps she had brought him here for his own sake as much as for Cally's. He looked at her in disbelief. How had she survived? He remembered the cold hand he had clutched in his own. Dead. That very hand now lay upon his forearm, a thin scar tracing its way across the back. It had been red with blood in a line exactly matching the scar. Shuddering, Arden jerked away.

 

She winced, not in physical pain but in reaction to the blackness he must be projecting at her. Once, a long time ago, when he was Avon, he had learned how easily she had felt the emotions of those around her, and had learned to shut them away when they grew too strong. It had not been difficult, then. Now he was Arden and had forgotten how.

 

But he must know the truth. He turned to the computer again. "How did you escape Terminal?" he keyed in.

 

"Terminal? I do not know where that is. I was found on a strangely shaped, artificial world, in an Auron trance. Do you know what that is?" he shook his head. "When one of my people is gravely injured, near death, we sometimes achieve such trances in order to slow bodily functions. A telepathic pulse goes out automatically, and if there are other telepaths near, they will assist. I must have done this when I was injured, fearing to die alone and silent. I do not remember. But when I was found, I was very near death. For two months, it was feared I would die. After I began to recover, I was brought here. Franton recognized me, or I would not know my name. The doctors say it is possible I may never remember, but small things have come back. Faces, sometimes. A man with curly hair. A blond woman. I do not know their names but they were a part of my past."

 

He typed in another question. "Has Franton told you nothing of your past?"

 

"Oh yes, everything she knew. She told me of the Liberator and Blake. He is the curly haired man. I followed him for several years and then he was gone. After he had gone, we helped to bring the genestock here. Franton told me about it, how the crew of the Liberator helped her: myself, Avon, Vila, Tarrant, Dayna. Sometimes, in my dreams, I remember Avon. I cannot see his face, not yet, but I can hear his voice. I think if I were to hear it now, I would remember him."

 

He opened his mouth, but no words emerged. Even when it mattered so much, he could not speak, and she would not know him unless he did. Perhaps that was better, after all. He had brought her nothing but pain, nothing but the destruction of her life and the death of her memories.

 

"I am all right," she said practically. "You must not worry about me. I am here among my people, and I am never alone. There is great joy in that. Perhaps if Blake would come here, I would remember. But if he never comes, if I stay as I am, I am still Cally."

 

Now he had destroyed even that hope. Blake would never come. Blake was dead. Arden Aserton shivered at the edges of being Avon and finally turned away, looking around the room with what he hoped was polite curiosity.

 

"I am talking too much," she said at once. "I am sorry. And Franton told you I was silent." Then her brow crinkled again. "Terminal. You asked me how I escaped from Terminal. How did you know, Arden? Is that the planet where I was found? Who told you? Avon? One of the others? Do they live? Will they come here?" Her placid acceptance of her amnesia shattered in the brilliant light of the hope he had inadvertently created for her. She looked at him with eager expectancy, her face aglow, and he shivered.

 

But that deserved an answer. Carefully he typed it out. "There was a Federation information release about your supposed death. They claimed you died on a planet called Terminal." It was true, after all, but it was not honest. Kess would not like the look of his soul right now. He owed Cally more than that.

 

But what could he give her except the knowledge of Blake's death at his hands, the execution of the others? He had no dreams to warm her, no hope to give her. He had nothing but the bitter memories buried inside. If he put aside Arden and let them all emerge, he might take her with him, and that he would not permit.

 

She looked at him expectantly, but before she could speak, Cody Aserton burst in, halting just inside the door as if he had felt the brittle atmosphere of the room. "Arden, Nat says we're going to stay here a week," he burst out awkwardly. "He wants to set up a delivery schedule with Franton. He thinks it would be nice for us to have a base, and Franton thinks that would be all right. With Sarna's people here, she'd always have other Aurons when we came home. I like it here. There's a lot to do in between flights."

 

His gush of words relaxed Arden as they always did, and he typed out a message for the boy. "I thought you hated planets."

 

"Well, I do, really. I mean, they're nothing like being in space. But ships need repairs and we spend a lot of time grounded somewhere. Why not here?" He looked at Cally. "Hello. I'm Cody, Arden's nephew. You two look like you know each other."

 

"No, we are strangers," Cally told him. "But he knows of me. I am Cally."

 

Cody looked wildly from Cally to Arden and back again. "I thought you were dead. There was a Federation report, and Arden always reacts when they mention you. I thought he knew you, or at least had met you, but I must be wrong."

 

"I think you were right, Cody," Cally told him softly. "But I have lost my past. It is gone, and only names and images remain. Arden is not a part of them, I am sorry to say."

 

Cody opened his mouth to tell her that Arden had begun his life with a different name, but he broke off when his uncle glared at him. "Oh," he said instead. "But couldn't you contact Blake or someone? Wouldn't that help? Or does he know you're here?"

 

"We do not know where Blake is," she replied. "We cannot advertise our presence here. Perhaps you could search for him as you travel the galaxy."

 

Cody brightened eagerly. "We could, couldn't we, Arden? Look for Blake and the others? Avon and Tarrant and Jenna and all the rest. I'd like that."

 

Arden knew such a search would be futile, and if he did not really allow himself to remember the whole of it, Avon did. Avon would laugh at such a waste of time. But Arden only felt sad. So many losses. So many wasted opportunities. Vila. Always there, always loyal until a shuttle over Malodaar had finished it. Then there was Blake, but Blake had betrayed him, betrayed Avon. Now Blake was gone, too. He was surrounded by futility, and only this muted Cally remained, unable to put a name to his face, even if it were the wrong one.

 

He typed quickly, "I'm going back to the ship to rest," and walked out of the room, hearing Cody behind him asking worried questions.

 

#

 

The dreams were the same night after night, sometimes savage, sometimes gentle, but always with familiar faces and familiar voices, calling her, seeking her. Sometimes the most familiar voice of all, Avon's voice, came to her, warm and velvet, as he held her cold hand, cursing himself for a fool, pleading with her to live. Then he had cursed himself once more, as cold as absolute zero. Now his voice filled her dreams. She had not seen him that last time, but now, in her dreams, he came, wearing Arden Aserton's face, bending over her, one tear tracing its way down his cheek.

 

She sat up abruptly, clutching her blanket in the darkness. The man had upset her, it was true, but that was no reason for him to invade her dreams. Yet his reaction to her identity had shaken him deeply. He could not be Avon, of course. Both of them could not have lost their memories. Such a thing was too great a coincidence to be real. There was the matter of his brother and his nephew to be considered, too. Avon had not come encumbered with family, though he'd had a brother somewhere.

 

She had watched Arden at the banquet that night. He had avoided her carefully, but when he forgot her, which he did briefly in the midst of conversations, he was nothing like what she'd been told of Avon. He didn't speak, of course, but he smiled as he listened to the boy, Cody's chatter, he appeared fond of Nat, his brother, he enjoyed Sarna's joy at her reunion with hrr people. The Gara, Kess, the soul-reader, did not alarm him, either, and from what she'd been told of Avon, that was the last person he'd want anywhere near him. But Kess sat beside him at the table, talked to him cheerfully, shared his meat, as was a Gara custom, and Arden accepted it naturally. Avon would never have done.

 

Franton watched Arden, too, the light of recognition in her eyes. Arden had been here before, or he had known Cally before her memory had gone. Franton had brought them together deliberately, for nothing she did was accidental. She had done it knowingly, hoping to startle Cally past the barriers in her mind. It had failed, of course, but it had begun something. Deep inside her, pressure was building. The need to know, long repressed, was struggling to break free, and for some reason, it had focussed on Arden Aserton, he of the dark, brooding eyes and the strange silences. Cody had explained that Arden never spoke, but he had refused to define the cause. Cally doubted it was physical, because once Nat had said something truly funny to Franton, and everyone had laughed. Including Arden. His laugh had rung out naturally, unaffected and full of delight. He had a voice. He simply did not use it. Could not use it.

 

Cally knew she would not sleep again. She lay restlessly, pretending she would sleep, then she got up, dressed, and went in search of Franton. Though it was the middle of the night, Franton would not turn her away.

 

Her knock prompted a speedy answer. Franton, fully dressed and alert, opened the door and revealed herself and Nat, sitting at a table, a list of planets spread out before them.

 

"We've been working out routes," she said. "Come in, Cally. You look upset. More dreams?"

 

"Vivid ones. About Avon."

 

Franton's eyes were knowing. "Come and sit down, Cally. There is something we must discuss."

 

Nat rose hastily. "I'll not intrude...."

 

"I think you must stay. We haven't talked of it, but it is necessary. I know you won't do anything to hurt your brother, but the time has come to go past that. You know very well he is not truly your brother."

 

Nat's eyes narrowed. "I'd like to know his true identity. won't do anything to jeopardize his recovery, especially since he's so comfortable with me and the others. He's safe with us and nothing you can say will change that. I won't let harm come to him."

 

"I know you love him as if he really were your brother," Franton said soothingly. "But we both know that is not true. I have met him before, and you know that, too, for I told you, this afternoon. You said when he was ready to tell you his identity, he would. But there are things preventing it that you don't understand. Cally's dreams are part of it, too."

 

"Cally knew him? Then he is a rebel? I was sure of it, especially when we found him outside a ruined rebel base on Gauda Prime."

 

"Yes, he's a rebel, though I'd have said a most reluctant one," Franton agreed. "The name you've chosen for him is not so different as his own. Cally was dreaming of him. His name is Kerr Avon."

 

Cally stared at her in dismay. Avon? But she had not known him. He was a stranger to her. She had always believed her memory would return if one of the Seven arrived. But it hadn't. Here was Avon, shattered by some tragedy, unable to speak, traumatized all over again by her presence here.

 

"Avon!" echoed Nat in near-comical disbelief. "But--"

 

"But?" prompted Franton.

 

"But if it's Avon, where are the rest of them?" He looked at Cally in exaggerated concern. "We found him...beside a grave. Could he be the only one left?"

 

"You found him beside  _one_  grave," Franton reminded him. "It's true someone has died, someone who mattered to him. It shocked him deeply; it's why he doesn't speak."

 

"I wish we could have done more for him," Nat mourned, "but there seemed so little."

 

"What have you done?" Cally asked practically. Arden Aserton was her companion, Avon. The fact that she remembered so little of him did not alter the fact that she owed him her loyalty and her support. The silent man who had reacted so violently to the sight of her was Avon, but he was badly hurt and in need of help.

 

"What we could," Nat replied defensively. "I took him in, made him part of my family, gave him a place of safety and shelter. He trusts us. It's true he hasn't spoken yet, but he can communicate if he must. I think he's determined to stay Arden because it's safer than being himself. I don't think he'll come back yet. He won't risk it. That's what Kess says, and I trust Kess's judgment. He's a soul-reader, and he tells me that Arden is in deep pain. He says being with us eases the pain, and as long as it does that, he stays with us. Now that I know who he is, I understand why he didn't want to come here. But he came anyway. That says something. I don't want to alter his status on our ship yet. I'm afraid he'd only retreat if I did."

 

"He may be right, Franton," agreed Cally. "Something has happened that we don't understand. He's withdrawn from it, but he knows very well what it is. For the moment, being Arden is safer for him. Let him stay Arden. In the meantime, we must find out what happened to the others. We must find the  _Scorpio_."

 

Franton nodded in agreement. "Yes, we can do that. We've been cautious, but this needs doing. Orac should be available. If it's with any of Avon's people, we have a way to reach them. When they were here last, you devised a method for us to communicate with Orac if need be. I don't know if you remember?"

 

"No," said Cally simply. She remembered very little. The only difference was that the meeting with Arden--Avon--made her  _want_  to remember all the more. "But you do. Please, Franton. Contact Orac."

 

"What do you want me to do?" asked Nat, pulling on his outer jacket. "As long as it doesn't involve hurting Arden, I'll do it. He's not here to help you remember, Cally. He needs help the more. My crew will defend him to the death."

 

"I think," said Franton, "That you should simply tell him you know who he is, but that it will make no difference unless he wants it to. Perhaps you should keep it from the rest of your crew for the time being, at least until we hear from Orac. What do you say?"

 

He nodded. "All right. I'll go back to the ship now and talk to him. But if he turns skittish or shows any trace of running, I'll back off."

 

"Fair enough," agreed Franton.

 

Cally watched him go. "I always thought I'd remember if one of them came," she said wistfully.

 

"I know. But he's acting nothing like Avon and he looks quite different in many ways. With that crew, he's more relaxed, though he keeps remembering and distancing himself. That might be because of us, though. He might be more comfortable away from here."

 

"Yet he will not speak."

 

"If he speaks, he will be questioned, and he will have to be Kerr Avon. I don't think he's ready for that."

 

"Perhaps you are right." She sighed. "I wish I could talk with him."

 

"Tomorrow, maybe," Franton replied. "Try to sleep, Cally. I think you'll need your rest."

 

#

 

Arden sat brooding on the  _Saucy Sal's_  flight deck waiting for his brother to return from his meeting with Franton. He didn't like the thought of going off to bed while Nat was away, fearing something unpleasant would come of his meeting with the Auron leader. He meant to deal with it when it happened instead of finding out later. He doubted he would sleep in any case, not with Cally so unexpectedly restored, though not restored intact. So he sat on the flight deck playing chess with Goran, who had proven unexpectedly good at it, though not in Arden's league. When the other man had given up and gone to bed, Arden had waited, occasionally pestered by Cody, who seemed too excited to sleep and kept popping in to see if anything had happened. Arden would have sent him off with a flea in his ear if he'd been inclined to speak to him. But the vow of silence still held.

 

"Avon?"

 

The confrontation had crept up on him unawares. Spinning around, he saw Nat in the doorway, eyes grave and concerned.

 

Making a negative gesture, Arden tried to disavow the name.

 

"I've been talking to Franton," Nat explained. "She told me who you were. She felt it only fair I know. I won't mention it to the others if you'd prefer it, and of course you're quite welcome to remain Arden to me. I've become accustomed to having a brother again and I like it. I'd hardly turf you out."

 

Arden eyed him measuringly and realized he meant it. If he denied his former identity now, Nat would back him completely. He wanted to do that. It was safer, and he was free with these people who expected so little from him. At least until he had walked into the control room and saw a living, breathing Cally. Now he realized how illusory that safety had been.

 

He was not ready to become Kerr Avon again. Shaking his head, he moved toward the computer. "I shall stay Arden for now," he keyed in.

 

"And what of Cally?" Nat persisted. "I'm not trying to push you, but I think she may need you."

 

That got a response. He hit the keys furiously. "Do you honestly imagine I am capable of helping someone else? I am incapable of helping myself. I destroy people. Cally is better off without me."

 

Nat read the message thoughtfully. "Well, perhaps. You've not destroyed us, though, or even shown the inclination for it, brother mine. Of course that's Arden Aserton we're talking about. Not Kerr Avon. A devil incarnate, no doubt. The man who saved what was left of the Auronar, who helped create this base. The man who has an honest soul. The man Cody adores and Kess trusts. But of course that man's Arden, not Avon." He shook his head. "Not entirely, though. Arden didn't help create this settlement. Arden didn't back Blake for all those years."

 

Avon glared at him, then he turned his eyes away. Blake. Yes, Blake would make him be Avon. "It was...his grave," he whispered, the words hoarse and rusty from lack of practice. "Blake's. I...killed him, Nat." He collapsed into the nearest chair and buried his head in his hands. He wanted to be Arden again and shut away this pain, but he couldn't. Instead, it welled through him like a cataract, and he shook with bitter tears. Blake. Dead at his hand, by his error, dead and rotting before his eyes. He'd had to wrap him in a tarpaulin to move him outside. Corpses do not stay neatly intact after they've been corpses awhile. Blake. He shuddered at the memory, unable to endure it.

 

Nat cursed sharply, then he sat beside Avon and put his arms around him and held him tightly. "Why did you kill him?" he asked gently, his voice empty of condemnation. Kess had been right. Nat was a man worthy of respect.

 

"He...sold me....said he set it up...was waiting for me. I thought it was...a trap. He was...acting as a bounty hunter...on Gauda Prime. What else...could I think?"

 

"And you made a mistake?"

 

"Yes. He had changed." The thin thread of a voice went on and on, describing Gauda Prime, letting it all pour out, how he had sought Blake for two years, never finding him, gradually making himself believe Blake had never meant to be found, that Blake had turned against him, so it wouldn't matter any more. But it  _had_  mattered, far more than he had believed possible. Tarrant's words had cut like knives. "He sold us. All of us. Even you."

 

When he had finished the story, he sat there and let Nat hold him, deriving a strange measure of comfort from this man who had never judged him, who had offered him nothing but friendship, understanding and trust. There were not many men like Nat. Once, a long time ago, Blake had been one of them.

 

That made it ache the harder. He shook with it, rocking back and forth and let the pain go, all of it, years of it, a lifetime of it. Nat simply waited, murmuring a comforting litany of soothing words. It helped. Strange that it should be this easy, though he knew it wasn't. But it felt better than he had expected, and it made it bearable, if only just.

 

Finally he regained enough control to speak again, though his voice lacked its customary strength. "I think I preferred being Arden," he said.

 

"Everything that went with the name is still yours," Nat replied. "I won't renounce my brother, and Cody will back you whatever you do. The others are yours, too, even Goran, and Sarna will never forget that you gave her back her people. If we call you Avon instead, it's only a name."

 

"Hardly that. The man who killed Blake." He took a perverse satisfaction in speaking the words, as if he knew he deserved the punishment the pain involved. "Arden was safe. He didn't have to remember."

 

"Because you weren't ready to remember. Shall I call you Arden?"

 

"It doesn't matter. I doubt I can be Arden any longer. The others, my former crew, would never have known him."

 

"You were on your way to the man we found and they didn't understand it any more than you did. Never mind. If you like, we'll go and haul them out of prison. But Franton means to contact Orac. Perhaps that will help."

 

"Orac." He was stunned. "I completely forgot Orac. I walked off with Cody and left it on Gauda Prime. Far gone indeed. Yes, we must contact Orac. I can do it now, if you like. The word might come better from me."

 

He was gaining strength, but he knew it was partly illusion. Nat was still shielding him, protecting him from himself. He was willing to allow it because he could not turn his back on this man. He had turned his back on too many people already, and the price of that was a grave on Gauda Prime. He would not do it again.

 

There was Cally to deal with, too. He owed her more than avoidance, though he doubted he could help her when he was so poorly equipped to help himself.

 

Sitting at the computer, he began to compose a message guaranteed to get Orac's attention and get it quickly.

 

"I think this will work," he began.

 

"Arden!"

 

Cody's whoop of delighted surprise spun him and Nat around. In their intensity, both of them had forgotten the rest of the crew, but Cody had been roaming the ship for some hours. Now he came charging into the flight deck, flung his arms around Avon and hugged him so hard he feared his ribs would collapse.

 

"You're talking!" he cried, elated.

 

"And you are stating the obvious." The more he talked, the more his voice gained in strength.

 

Since this was a complaint the others often flung at Cody, it elicited a delighted chuckle. The boy tightened his grip once more then stood back, looking at Avon with a penetrating stare. All at once his eyes narrowed. "Are you all right?" he demanded urgently. "You haven't been, er, crying?"

 

"Persistent, too, when it is patently none of his business," Avon informed Nat. "Let it go for now, Cody. I shall explain it to you one day."

 

"Well, if it's got you talking, then I guess it's okay. But not if you mean to find fault with me all the time." A teasing light crept into his eyes.

 

"But you make it so easy," Avon purred.

 

"Help me, Dad," Cody demanded, spinning to face his father, who was laughing openly. "Don't the two of you gang up on me. Whoever said uncles were that special didn't know what they were talking about."

 

"Or nephews," Avon returned pointedly. "Though I'm not certain you'll want this uncle. Perhaps it would be better if I left the ship."

 

"Not bloody likely," Cody replied. "Not even if you're an axe murderer or, worse, a Federation officer."

 

Avon winced. No axe murderer, of course, but Blake was still dead. Seeing his face, Cody shot a worried look at his father, who said quickly, "He's neither of those things, Cody, but he's had a very bad experience. This isn't the best time to bother him."

 

"No," agreed Cody. "I'm sorry, Arden. But you aren't really Arden, are you? What do you want me to call you?"

 

The way he phrased it gave Avon the choice. He was free to remain Arden, assume an alias, or to tell the truth. So, perversely, he did just that. "Avon will do," he said flatly and waited for the boy's reaction.

 

It took a moment to register with Cody, then he whooped triumphantly. "I knew it! I knew you were a rebel. That means we have to fight the Federation now, doesn't it, Nat?"

 

Nat cast a concerned look at Avon, who avoided it adroitly. "That's up to everyone on the ship, and it depends on Avon. We can't expect it of him. Now go to bed, Cody. I can't imagine what you're doing up at this hour."

 

"How can I sleep with all this...." Cody began before he saw the determination in his father's eyes. He nodded. "Well, I'll go to bed," he agreed. "But I can't promise to sleep."

 

Nat smiled, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, "Good man. And have a little sense. Don't go telling everyone you see what's going on."

 

Cody drew himself to his full height and said with offended dignity, "I won't say a word." He winked at Avon and then stalked off the flight deck.

 

"He's a good boy," Nat said fondly. "But before long, he's going to start thinking about the way we found you and I didn't want him pressuring you tonight."

 

"Tomorrow, then?" Avon asked wryly. He didn't want to discuss it further. "Perhaps you had better explain what you think the crew needs to know," he said wearily. "Let me send this message to Orac and then I want my bed."

 

"I know. We won't mention any of this again unless you want to."

 

A surge of the old Avon made him cast a haughty look of affront at Nat, but he couldn't sustain it. Too tired, too drained. Besides, Nat deserved more than that. He'd long ago stopped giving people what they deserved, except in the most negative sense. A survival characteristic. But the price of such survival had become too high.

 

He looked at Nat who grinned encouragingly, and then he sent the message to Orac.

 

"How soon will the reply come?"

 

"Not for some time," Avon replied. "Orac engages in its own researches and the message may not immediately come to its attention. If there is an answer, it will be in code. I've keyed the computer to record it." His voice ran down, cracking with fatigue, and Nat clapped a hand on his shoulder.

 

"Come on, Avon. Bed for you."

 

He was so spent that he let the other man guide him to his cabin and even see him into bed. Lacking the energy to fight, he blinked up sleepily as Nat drew the covers over him as he might have done for Cody when he was a child. He felt empty, all pretenses and defenses stripped away, all feelings purged. But in the midst of that hollowness was a tiny spark of gratitude to this man, who had rescued him from himself.

 

In the morning, he would talk to Cally.

 

#

 

Vila could scarcely believe that Blake was real. Gauda Prime was etched so vividly upon his mind that the sight of Blake had shocked him profoundly, and he found himself following Blake about as if he'd vanish again, should Vila let him out of his sight. To make matters worse, Tarrant seemed prepared to keep an eye on Vila, and whenever the thief turned around, there was the pilot, a determined expression on his face.

 

"What're you doing, then?" he asked, lying in wait around a bend in a corridor and springing out on him when Tarrant came hurrying along.

 

"I'm watching you," Tarrant admitted readily.

 

"Why? I've done nothing to you, you great lump."

 

"No, you haven't." Tarrant looked uncomfortable. "But I'm not sure I can trust Blake, and you seem determined to hang on his heels."

 

"Not trust Blake?" Vila echoed blankly. "But it's really Blake this time."

 

"Is it? Are you quite sure? I never met Blake, Vila. I met the other one and he misled me."

 

"And you want to make sure it won't happen again?" Vila smiled a little. "You're trying to protect me? I didn't know you cared."

 

"I don't," Tarrant replied automatically, but he didn't back down. Catch him admitting anything like concern for the thief. Never.

 

"Then is it about Gauda Prime?" Vila asked hesitantly, unwilling to disturb the truce that had grown between them since they'd revived on Gauda Prime.

 

Tarrant flushed slightly and turned away. "It was my fault," he admitted in a low voice. "The other Blake fooled me, and I told Avon he'd sold him."

 

"Hadn't he?" Vila asked practically. "You were  _right_ , Tarrant. It was a set-up. You did the right thing. Your instincts didn't let you down."

 

Tarrant stared at him in surprise, his eyes widening a little. Then his muscles lost their tension and he let out a great breath of relief. "When you put it like that...." he began.

 

"It shows my natural genius," Vila remarked. "What's wrong? Afraid this is the wrong Blake, too? He's not. We've talked and he's really Blake. I'd know if he wasn't."

 

"You said that one was him," Tarrant accused him.

 

"That was because he  _looked_  like Blake, you great idiot," insisted Vila, grabbing Tarrant's arm and shaking it. "When he started talking about setting us up, I thought he Blake at his worst, and it wasn't until we got here and saw the real one with Avalon that I realized why he'd felt so wrong before. Servalan set it up. It was all a trick to get us. Had to be. She's the only one nasty enough to manage something like that. Either she got that clone of Blake, or had somebody surgically altered to look like him and coached to sound like him, or that copy was a shape changer."

 

"Outside of the Andromedans, there's no such thing as shape changers, Vila," Tarrant reminded him, grinning. "Reading science fiction, are you? Assuming you can read."

 

Tarrant sounded normal again and Vila was glad. He'd got used to the great bully and might even have missed him if something had happened to him, but he had no intention of saying so.

 

"Better than you," he defended himself. "But this shows us how nasty Servalan is. She's probably got other schemes up her sleeve. And something else to think of. If that was Blake's clone, she might even have IMIPAK. We can't have that, can we? We'll need to find out."

 

Tarrant's eyes narrowed. "You're right, Vila. Do you know where that planet was, the one with Blake's clone?"

 

"No," said Vila. "But Orac will."

 

"Maybe we better talk to Blake about it," Tarrant replied. "We need to find out."

 

"There's a better way to find out," Blake said, coming down the corridor to meet them. "I've been listening to you both. Sorry to eavesdrop, but I was starting to wonder if you suspected me of something, the way you've been creeping around after me. I'm relieved to find it just a few natural doubts."

 

"It's more than that," Vila insisted promptly. "And it's more than IMIPAK. It's Avon! Why hasn't Orac found him yet? We've been here three days already, and all Orac's done is putter around and say to quit bothering it. We should  _do_  something."

 

"What do you suggest, Vila?" asked Blake. "I'm open to suggestions."

 

"You don't want to find him," Vila accused. "You're mad at him because he shot that other you."

 

Blake looked startled. "No, I don't think I am," he replied seriously. "I was a little, at first, but the more I thought of it, the more I realized that the other man couldn't have known Avon, wouldn't have known what to say to him. He sounds like he was in a bad way by then--and why you didn't do something about it--" he started hotly.

 

"Like what?" Tarrant defended himself. "He wasn't exactly listening to us by then. Damn it, Blake...."

 

"Wait." Vila waved his hands in the air. "If Blake's not mad at Avon, then he's not. We couldn't do anything for Avon because we weren't suicidal. We'll have to go on from here. Maybe he doesn't want to be found. Maybe he ran and found that bolthole he's always wanted. He thought you were dead, Blake, and he couldn't rescue the rest of us on his own. He didn't even take Orac with him, and that's what scares me."

 

"Worried about him, Vila?" Tarrant asked, a hint of snideness creeping into his voice.

 

Vila stood up to him. "Maybe I am. So are you, so don't bother me about it. Let's go talk to Avalon. If we could use that ship of Cais', we might be able to go looking for him, or even to check if IMIPAK's still there. What do you say, Blake?"

 

"Do you trust Cais now?" Blake asked him.

 

"Now I do. Besides, Tarrant likes that ship."

 

"I'd like it better with a stardrive and a teleport," remarked the pilot, grinning. "But it'll do."

 

"Then come on," Blake insisted. "I have to admit I want to find Avon quickly. I can't help being glad I have an impact on him, but I don't want him to go on thinking I'm dead."

 

"Good point," agreed Vila. "He might take a gun to you the first time he sees you."

 

It was meant as a joke, but it fell flat at their feet. They looked at each other seriously and set off to retrieve Orac and call for a meeting. The longer the waited, the worse it was likely to be.

 

#

 

Cally slept very poorly that night and rose lethargic, thinking of Avon. Now that she knew his identity, she was anxious to speak to him, but he wasn't speaking back, and she doubted she'd get very far. In the end, she reported to work instead. Maybe he would come to her.

 

She worked through the morning and didn't stop for a lunch break. The only people who stopped by brought her routine reports or were pilots on their way out to their ships. Each time the door opened behind her, she jerked alert and turned expectantly, only to sink back in disappointment.

 

When he finally came, Cally had lost her enthusiasm and didn't look up. But the silence behind her felt charged as if with electricity and she stiffened, feeling the hairs stir on the back of her neck. She couldn't make herself turn around.

 

"Cally."

 

It was not the black velvet purr of her dreams, but a rusty and broken voice, as if dragged over sand. But it stabbed to the heart of her and she turned to see him standing there, looking incredibly young and painfully old all at once, his eyes huge and hollow and vulnerable as they had never been in all the years she had known him. He had never stood before her like this on the  _Liberator_ , never waited for her judgment, never held out his hand as if to ask her understanding. Incident after incident ran through her mind, so fast she couldn't keep up with them, a confused jumble of years and years, flipping into place as if it had never been gone. One word from him, and she was home.

 

But he was lost. She knew it, could read it in the very lines of his body, the thinness of his face. The youth was merely the absence of defenses; he was holding nothing back. She had never seen that before, though there had been times when his guard had trembled, generally around Blake. But Blake was not here now. This was between her and Avon.

 

She touched his outstretched hand, clasping it warmly. "Avon," she breathed, then felt herself drawn into his arms and clasped to him as if she were the only thing he had left.

 

They held each other for a long time. It might have been moments, or nearly an hour. She only knew she felt safe there. When he finally freed her and looked into her face, he studied her carefully as if she had become a stranger. Hesitantly, he smiled. "You know me," he said positively.

 

"I was always sure I would know you if I heard your voice," she said. "Avon, are you all right? Yesterday...."

 

"Yesterday I was someone else," he said, "And so were you. Today, we are ourselves again. For you, perhaps, that's good. For me...."

 

"Yes, it's good. Oh, Avon, don't shut me out now. I remember everything, too much, too soon."

 

He brushed the hair back from the forehead and traced along the line of the scar with gentle fingers. "Memory has always been a curse for me," he admitted. "Don't remember too well, Cally. Don't remember Blake."

 

She froze, trapped in his gaze like a moth in the flame. "Blake?" she questioned uneasily. "What of Blake, Avon?"

 

"Blake is dead. I killed him."

 

"Oh, Avon, no." She stared at him in horror, but in pity, too, for Blake's wounds had made Avon bleed. "Tell me," she said, grasping his hand again and leading him to a chair.

 

They sat side by side, still holding hands, as if afraid to break the link between them. Slowly and painfully, he told her of the events that had passed since Terminal, relating them honestly and with no mercy. He did not defend himself, not once. But when he had buried Blake and sat down beside the grave, prepared to wait there for his own death, she shivered and put her arms around him.

 

"That wasn't Blake," she soothed. "Not the Blake we knew. We don't know what changed him, but know this, Avon. I, too, would have shot him. If you ask the others, Vila, Tarrant, Dayna, they would have done it, too. You were hurt the worse, you were quicker. That is all."

 

"A fact which I do not find unduly consoling," he murmured against her hair.

 

"No. What of the others, Avon? Do you know where they are?"

 

"At first nothing mattered. I became Arden Aserton and put Avon behind me. I was...a little mad, I think. I am not certain where they are, but I have put Orac to looking."

 

"Orac! I didn't know you had Orac. Where is it?"

 

"I don't have Orac. When Cody Aserton found me, I walked away with him. I didn't remembered Orac until later. But last night I sent it a coded message."

 

"So did we," she agreed. "Avalon knew Orac might help find the others. Are they in prison? Were they caught? Or are they dead, too?"

 

"No, they're alive. They  _were_  in prison on Earth, but there has been no recent mention of them. Knowing them, they've escaped. Vila...." His voice faltered again.

 

"Vila will understand."

 

"Not Malodaar. I was desperate, Cally. I meant to kill him. To kill  _Vila_." He looked at her in some astonishment.

 

"But you didn't," she insisted calmly. "We shall find Vila, between us and your new family. I know they will help. We shall look for Vila and the others. I will not have you at odds with Vila."

 

"I fear that is beyond even your ability to mend."

 

"No." Fierce determination ran through her voice. "You gave me back myself, Avon. I will do the same for you."

 

"I...rather think that will be impossible," he said flatly. "Not unless you have some skill at resurrection."

 

"He was not a saint, Avon. He was a man. He was flawed, and his flaws killed him. You can live without him. You are strong enough for that."

 

"I think not, Cally." He looked at her solemnly, and she fell forever into the depths of his eyes. "I think not."

 

#

 

"I have the requested information."

 

Orac sat at a place of honor in the conference room. They had gathered there; Avalon and several of her people, Cais, Blake, and the crew of  _Scorpio_ , but before they could do more than make a few preliminary remarks about IMIPAK and the search for Avon, Orac had interrupted importantly.

 

"You've found Avon!" Vila whooped excitedly, leaning forward and jogging the computer. "Where is he? Tell us quickly." He caught Tarrant's eye, then noticed Dayna's grin and Soolin's cautious optimism. Cautious indeed. It came to Vila that Avon might well be dead. "Tell us," he insisted.

 

"Kerr Avon is alive and on the planet Kaarn."

 

"Kaarn!" burst out Dayna. "We should have thought of that."

 

"Should we?" Tarrant objected. "After--after Cally, I'd have thought that was the last place he'd go."

 

"Maybe it was penance," said Soolin. "In any case, he's there. What else, Orac? Did he send you a message?"

 

"I have received two messages. One is from Kerr Avon, who reports he is alive and in no danger. He enquires after the rest of you and orders me to see to your safety if you are Federation prisoners."

 

"I didn't know he cared," said Vila automatically, then he straightened up a little as the automatic words hit him. Avon had cared enough to ask. Maybe that was enough for Vila to forgive him from Malodaar. No, Vila had already done that when Avon had said in such a broken voice, "Have you betrayed  _me_?" to the false Blake. He simply hadn't admitted it until now.

 

"I have no information on that subject," said Orac huffily.

 

"Then tell us about the second message?" Avalon put in. She had been putting the information in the computer at her place, but now she looked up and glanced around at the people assembled. Her eyes fell on Blake, and she smiled faintly. Following her look, Vila noticed that Blake looked far more eager and alive. Maybe he needed Avon as much as Avon had needed Blake. The thief hoped so.

 

"The second message is from Franton, who runs the settlement there," explained Orac. "She recognized Avon and apparently learned from Cally how to contact me. She reports that Avon and Cally are well and if possible, would any of their crewmates come quickly."

 

Before the little computer had finished speaking, the Scorpio crew had burst into loud exclamations. "Cally!" "It's a mistake, Cally's dead." "You mean Cally's on  _Kaarn_?"

 

Blake raised his voice. "If Cally is safe after all and Avon's there, then I am going there. I'm going now. Are you certain it's not a trap, Orac?"

 

"I am completely certain, or I would not have reported it. I have additional information. Franton reports that Avon has assumed a false identity, one Arden Aserton, and that he is unable to speak."

 

That brought a new babble of words as the crew turned that around in their heads. "Reason?" Blake barked out.

 

"Mental trauma," Orac returned.

 

Dead silence. Then Vila jumped to his feet. "Well, come on," he said. "We have to get to Kaarn right away."

 

No one argued with him. Avalon agreed to send someone to check out IMIPAK for them and assigned Cais and the Panther ship to them. "I've wanted to establish diplomatic relations with Kaarn since we heard about the new Auron colony," she admitted as they headed for the landing area. "But I wanted to give them time to establish themselves properly. Cais, you talk to Franton for me. I don't expect them to jump in and fight with us until they're stable enough to manage it. You'll see when you get there."

 

The young agent nodded. "Right. Come on, everyone."

 

"Blake?" Avalon caught his arm. "Are you sure you want to go? What shall I tell Jenna when she comes in tomorrow?"

 

"Tell her the truth, that I've gone for Avon. You won't surprise her." He didn't even hesitate.

 

They piled onto the ship in a rush, and Vila couldn't help noticing that each and every one of them looked anxious to depart. Cais, who didn't know Avon or Cally, was the calmest of them, and perhaps that was why Tarrant stood by and let him take the ship out.

 

Vila heaved an anxious sigh as they achieved orbit and headed for deep space. Catching Tarrant's eye, he exchanged a worried look, then both of them turned to Blake.

 

The rebel sat watching the main screen, his expression unreadable. He gnawed at one finger, a familiar gesture to Vila, who found himself remembering the  _Liberator_. If they got Avon and Cally back, they'd have everyone together again, all but poor Gan. He'd given up on Cally with great regret. Until he actually saw her, he couldn't quite believe it. Vila heaved a sigh and hoped for the best.

 

But he knew they could still expect the worst.

 

#

 

Nat's crew took the news of Avon's true identity according to their natures. Kess was calm and unsurprised, and treated Avon exactly as he had done before. Goran was not much interested; that phegmatic man had little time for rebels. Arden or Avon, he was the same person to Goran. Sarna was still too caught up in the joy of telepathic contact to react strongly, but when she heard the story of how Avon had believed Cally dead through his own fault and had come to Kaarn anyway, Sarna came to Avon and embraced him. He freed himself quickly, but without the distaste Nat had half expected.

 

Cody was beside himself with excitement, especially when he heard that Cally had managed to regain her memory. The sight of Cally had given Avon a voice again, why shouldn't the sound of him remind her of her own identity? It seemed the perfect solution to Cody, who tempered his joy at the solemn and wary expression in Avon's eyes as he waited for Orac's response.

 

When it came, it was not helpful. It said simply. "Crew are free and en route to Kaarn. All of them." Avon studied it over and over as if he expected to find a hidden meaning in the words. No time line had been given, and Orac, probably caught up in its own researches, was not likely to consider human sensibilities. Perhaps it knew Avon was an unsentimental man who had never before needed pampering. Nat didn't know, but he wished that the computer had sent a more reassuring message.

 

Avon and Cally spent as much time together as possible. Franton had discharged her from her duties, and they often walked out away from the settlement. Cally did most of the talking. Perhaps Avon had lost the habit, or maybe he had never been one to chatter. Nat suspected the latter. The two appeared to derive great comfort from each other, and if Avon was not as relaxed and content as Arden at his best, he did not withdraw from the crew either. He spent his evenings with them, sometimes accompanied by Cally, listening to their jokes and squabbles and occasionaly joining in as if he were Arden again. The crew did Nat proud. Never once did they make Avon think they were uncomfortable with him in his new identity. He was still family to them, and Avon seemed to need it.

 

Other people, however, were held at a firm but polite distance. Avon seldom bothered with strangers. He was not actively rude to them, he was simply not interested. He seemed uneasy at the approaching meeting, and Cally watched him sometimes, a perplexed line furrowing her brow.

 

"He's changed greatly," she told Nat once. "Avon always believed in his own survival as the prime motivator of his life. Or he said he did. Other people's wellbeing never mattered to him. Yet he saved us more than once." She shook her head. "I think he fears the others will condemn him for shooting Blake, but even if they accept him, he cannot accept himself." She shuddered. "He told me about digging out of that ruined base. It took him weeks, Nat. All that time, trapped with...with Blake's body. I'm surprised he survived it. Thank you for all you've done for him. You gave him a life to replace what he'd lost."

 

"I wish I thought it was enough, Cally. I have high hopes for Vila."

 

"So do I, and I plan to tell him so the minute his ship is in range. Telepathy is very useful sometimes."

 

The days passed slowly. Orac had not said where the others were when they received the message, so there was no way to tell how long it would take them to arrive. But one morning, Nat received a call from Cally in communications. She had stopped by to check with her replacement and been told a ship was approaching. It was a Federation vessel, at least by configuration, but Avon's crewmates were on board. "They've stolen a ship," Cally announced. "Servalan's personal ship." He could hear the smile in her voice.

 

"Have you told Avon?"

 

"I'm going to tell him now. He's waiting for me."

 

"Would you like me to tell him, lass?"

 

"No. It's my place to do it."

 

"Then the best to you. I'll be there when they land. I've got a stake in him, too. He's my brother, after all."

 

"I'll tell him you said so."

 

#

 

Cally found Avon in the computer section of the base. He'd spent some time there, drawing up a system to modify the equipment, much to the gratitude of Franton's techs, who were delighted to have such a gifted and experienced teacher. To Cally's great surprise, Avon took to it well, masking his impatience when someone failed to understand the point he was making, yet encouraging those who had the wit to understand him. He was not patient with carelessness or stupidity, but anyone who put an effort into his work and who picked up the lesson was rewarded for it. It occurred to Cally that Avon might have made a good teacher for the gifted.

 

When he saw her, he put aside the hard copy he'd been studying, passing it to the man at his side and leaving him with a brief word. She led the way outside, and smiled at him.

 

"The ship is here. They'll be down in less than an hour."

 

He went dead white. She hadn't thought it would be as bad as that, but the people on that ship had seen him at rock bottom. He had no reason to believe they could accept him, and in his present vulnerability, he was all too easy to hurt. She hoped Vila and the others could help him rebuild his walls, not as high as before, never as high, but high enough to remove his excess vulnerability.

 

"It will be all right," she soothed.

 

"You're a fool."

 

"No, Avon. It will be all right."  _I will make it all right_.

 

He came with her to the landing field, both eager and reluctant to see his friends again. Cally was anxious to see her old friends. Dear Vila. She had always been fond of him, even when he irritated her the most. Tarrant had grown up. Avon said he'd matured and improved considerably toward the end, though it cost him something to admit it. He sometimes sounded resentful of Tarrant, and she knew it was because of Tarrant's mistaken warning about Blake. But Avon blamed Blake's death on one person, himself. Tarrant might warrant a criticism for it, but Avon gave himself the lion's share of the blame.

 

Dayna, too, was Cally's friend, and she looked forward to the meeting. Franton had warned the others that she lived, and they would expect her. She sometimes wondered at their reaction, but that part of it did not alarm her nearly as much as their attitude toward Avon.

 

As soon as they were in range, she started talking to Vila. There was no guarantee she could reach him from so far, but eventually he would come within her range. She knew Vila well and he'd always been receptive to her telepathy before. She meant to make the most of this opportunity.

 

As the ship approached, she started sending to Tarrant and Dayna, too. Not for the first time, she wished that at least one of them possessed a telepathic gift. She was eager to hear their reactions.

 

As for Avon, he was pale and nervous, and he jumped at slight sounds. She knew she must never delude himself that the return of his speech meant he was well. It would be all too easy to destroy him, if this went wrong.

 

#

 

Vila was the first one off the ship. He hesitated in the doorway, looking around, then he spotted Avon, who braced himself as if the thief's look might prove lethal. Instead, Vila broke into the broadest smile Avon had ever seen. "Avon!" he cried. "Cally!" and charged down the ramp so quickly he fell over his own feet, rolled head over heels and scrambled up again just in front of Avon. He grabbed the tech by the arms and stared at him, his eyes enormous.

 

"Don't you ever disappear like that again!" he accused with mock sternness. "You scared us. Even me. And you know how hard it is to scare me."

 

Avon's lips quirked involuntarily. Vila's fingers were digging into his arms, but he ignored the pain. "Vila." His voice was hoarse, a little unsteady. He had meant to put Vila off with a sharp and scornful remark, but none would come to him. To his dismay, he felt himself begin to smile. "Vila," he repeated idiotically, unable to say anything more.

 

"Well, if you're talking again, at least you're saying something important," Vila announced and flung himself into Avon's arms. He pulled Vila close and hung on for all he was worth. He'd never thought to see Vila again, and even if he had, he wouldn't have expected this reaction. Vila should hate him. But Vila didn't.

 

"Vila," he tried once more, pulling away. "Malodaar--"

 

"Forget it," Vila said. "You couldn't do it. Can when you have to, but you couldn't then. I can tell the difference."

 

After Gauda Prime, that was all too plain. Avon flinched.

 

Vila caught himself. "Didn't mean that," he insisted gruffly, his eyes too bright as if he might cry. "That was different anyway. Servalan's trap."

 

"She--had Blake?" Avon asked. If he'd been programmed, it was even worse. Blake would have been unable to help himself, fool that he was.

 

"Tell him, Vila." Suddenly Tarrant was there, too. He swept Avon away from the thief as if he weighed nothing at all and hugged him, too. Utterly astonished, Avon tried to struggle free, then abandoned the attempt. He wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve it, except surviving, and that had never been a very clever trick. He did it automatically, for what it was worth.

 

Then Tarrant's words registered. He pulled free of the taller man, oddly grateful from the acceptance. Tarrant's eyes were too bright as well. Perhaps it was catching, for Cally was the same.

 

Dayna and Soolin arrived and he was subjected to yet another hug from Dayna and a pat on the arm from Soolin, who was probably the least sentimental member of the crew. Avon had long suspected she had him beat at the game of touch-me-not, but she looked genuinely pleased to see him.

 

"Tell him," Tarrant reminded Vila. "It would be better from you."

 

Avon braced himself for bad news. There was always bad news. Conscious of Dayna hugging Cally and introducing her to Soolin, Avon turned to Vila and saw poorly suppressed excitement brimming in his eyes. It didn't  _look_  like bad news.

 

"Gauda Prime was Servalan's game," Vila said quickly. "She planned the whole thing, as carefully as she planned Terminal. We got some of it out of Orac on the way here. She arranged it all. She wanted revenge. She wanted to break you." He bit his lip, as he realized how well she had succeeded. "She'd learned on Terminal the tool to use. Blake. But she didn't have Blake, Avon. She never did. Not on Terminal, not on GP."

 

"He played his part well without her control," Avon said stiffly.

 

"Oh, yes, Avon," said a new voice behind him, a voice that made him freeze into utter immobility, his breath caught in his chest. "He played his part well. But the part he played was me. He was the actor. I was the role. She didn't have me, Avon. She had a double, surgically altered to resemble me, scarred to allow for slight differences, painstakingly coached to sound like me. He fooled everyone. But you were the greatest test of all. He hardly dared talk to you, for you would have unveiled him, if he'd had more time. He was meant to die all along, and Servalan, who knew you, told him what to say. Poor fool, he never expected to die."

 

Avon couldn't move. The power to speak had deserted him again. But he didn't have to move. The owner of that all too familiar voice stepped in front of him and stood there. Blake. It was Blake. Alive.

 

"He's the real one, Avon," Vila said urgently. "We know he is. He's been with Avalon since just after Star One. He and Jenna. She's on a mission now or she'd be here too, but he's really Blake. Avon? Please, Avon. Say something. Say anything."

 

Avon stared at Blake, feasting his eyes upon Blake, who watched him hopefully, a quiet rage in the back of his eyes. Without a word of explanation, Avon knew it was directed at Servalan for what she had done to him, to all of them. Blake's Cause lived, and while that would once have been reason for scorn, Avon felt a sudden treacherous warmth flood his chest. His lips moved, shaping the name, "Blake." Warily, as if afraid the illusion would shatter, leaving him trapped behind the mirror of his madness, he reached out and touched Blake's chest. It felt solid and real. Blake. Alive. The imagine of the rotting corpse rose before his eyes, superimposing itself over Blake's features, but Blake made an impatient gesture as if he knew and was brushing it away. It faded, leaving the reality. Avon had not shot Blake.

 

"Blake?" he whispered, conscious of Vila's hand on one shoulder, supporting him, and Tarrant's hand on the other. "You're alive," he said. Idiotic. He was speaking the obvious. He sounded as foolish as young Cody.

 

Cally stood beside Blake, smiling, nodding encouragingly. Surrounded by miracles, Avon reached out, gathered Blake to him as if he would break, and wrapped his arms around him. Blake let out a whoop of triumph and hugged him so hard he could scarcely breathe.

 

His world righting itself, Avon finally freed himself. Meeting Blake's eyes levelly, he said, "Yes, well, that's enough of that," in a near approximation of his old, acerbic tone.

 

Blake burst out laughing.

 

#

 

Explanations and questions took most of the day. Blake led them back into the ship, introducing Avon to someone named Cais, who had, it seemed, rescued his crew from prison on Earth, stealing Servalan's personal ship in the process. But Cais removed himself with commendable tact, leaving Blake's crew--and Avon's--alone.

 

For a long time, they brought each other up to date, relating the events of the past weeks. Avon described the crew of the  _Saucy Sal_  tersely enough, but the others seemed to realize how necessary they had been to Avon's survival. "I owe them," said Blake.

 

The tech opened his mouth to demand what business it was of Blake's to pay Avon's debts, then he fell silent. He welcomed the old, familiar impulses, for he had felt defenseless in recent weeks, but he did not need them with Blake. "So do I," he agreed quietly.

 

Blake exchanged a startled look with Cally, then turned and smiled at Avon again with an almost proprietary gleam in his eyes. Suspecting that holding Blake at the proper distance would never be easy again, Avon struggled for some degree of distance.

 

"Where were you, Blake?" he demanded. "We--I searched for you after Star One. More fool I, it seems, since you didn't want to be found."

 

"You'd given no evidence of wanting to find me," Blake replied. "Perhaps we're both fools, but you told me in plain words you wanted to be free of me, and I'd promised you  _Liberator_. Between the two, I thought it might be better to stay away. It was never my first choice. Avalon found me, and I stayed with her. I thought you might check with her, but you didn't. That convinced me you'd meant it."

 

"Yes, Blake. We're both fools." He regarded the other man with considerable satisfaction, which he was careful to keep from his face. He doubted he would be able to maintain his guard properly around Blake again. He knew what it felt to lose him beyond redemption. That he had been wrong didn't erase the memories. Though Blake's Cause was still a fool's game, it was Blake's, and Avon knew he must stay with Blake. "You for your Cause, and I for following you once more."

 

Vila nudged Tarrant with his elbow and grinned, and Tarrant grinned back. Those two seemed on excellent terms, and Avon wondered how it had come about.

 

"That means we're going to start fighting again, doesn't it?" Vila asked lugubriously.

 

"You're not scared, Vila?" Avon asked. "I thought you said you were over all that."

 

"I said you knew how hard it was to scare me," Vila corrected him, his eyes gleaming with delight.

 

"As it requires next to no effort at all...." Avon began.

 

"No, he's quite brave now," put in Tarrant. "He's all set to volunteer for dangerous missions, aren't you, Vila?"

 

Vila flashed a scornful look at the pilot. "I'll leave the role of dashing hero to you. After all, who else fits the stereotype so well?"

 

They glared at each other with mock rage, and Avon hid a smile. Vila and Tarrant friends? It was mindboggling.

 

"What about you, Cally?" Blake asked the Auron, who was sitting comfortably at Avon's side. "I know how much it must mean to you, being here with your people. I wouldn't want to take you away from it if you don't want to go, but I'm starting to get impatient. I want my crew back. Avalon's working out an organizational table with plans to coordinate rebel efforts and finally take this movement somewhere. I need the lot of you. But...."

 

"I have always believed in your Cause, Blake," Cally replied serenely. "I will come. We will visit here from time to time, won't we?"

 

"Of course."

 

Blake turned to Soolin and Dayna, who nodded in ready agreement. Dayna still wanted Servalan, of course, and Soolin, if questioned, would probably say she had nowhere else to go. Avon hid a smile. It was what he might say himself.

 

Except that he did have somewhere else to go.

 

"Blake," he said quietly.

 

The rebel looked at him in alarm. "Avon?"

 

"I...seem to have acquired a new family. I don't intend to leave without discussing it with them."

 

"Shall I come with you?" Blake asked.

 

"No, I must do it alone." He rose quickly, then paused in the doorway. "I would not say no if you chose to walk along with me," he admitted diffidently.

 

Blake jumped up with alacrity and they went out together.

 

#

 

Cody Aserton was sitting gloomily on the flight deck, idly running systems checks when Avon entered and cleared his throat. Jumping up, the boy grinned in obvious delight.

 

"Avon?" he asked. "You're back!" He appeared to recognize the truth in Avon's eyes. "You've come to say goodbye."

 

"Yes." Avon looked around the flight deck with some fondness. "It is not often that I find myself in a position where I must offer thanks, but you and your family have saved my life--and my sanity."

 

"Blake helped," Cody said. The news of Blake's survival had spread through the base like wildfire. Cody looked elated.

 

"Yes," agreed Avon with quiet satisfaction. "Blake...helped. And Cally. Call your father, Cody. I must say goodbye."

 

When Nat and the others arrived, Avon could feel their regret at his impending departure. Odd. He hadn't been there so very long, not more than a month, really, and most of that time he hadn't said a word. But he was part of the family anyway. Just as he had been shown that he was part of another 'family.' The disgusting sentiment of that thought irritated him, but it made it no less true.

 

He shook hands with Nat and the others. "I will be leaving soon. It was never my intention to leave you shorthanded, but perhaps I was never that helpful."

 

"Never that helpful," Goran exclaimed. "Rebuilding all the systems, finding Sarna's people." He would have gone on, but Nat waved a hand at him for silence.

 

"Families don't always stay together, Avon," he said. "But that doesn't make them any less families. We know where to find each other now, and I'll expect to see you again. I have only one bit of advice. Let the others help you, the way you let us. I know it's not your nature, but relax a little. You trusted us--and you survived it."

 

"Sheer luck," replied Avon, grinning. He felt comfortable around Nat as he did very few people.

 

"Then it's time you had some good luck. Another shipload of it came in this morning."

 

Avon nodded in agreement. "Yes. I still think Blake's Cause a fool's game, but I will play it anyway."

 

"Then all the best to you, brother mine," Nat agreed and clasped Avon's hand once more. "If you don't stay in touch, I'll come looking for you."

 

Kess and Sarna hugged him--he had certainly suffered a plethora of hugs today, he thought wryly. Then Cody charged over and hugged him, too. "Goodbye, Uncle Kerr," he said with glee.

 

"A pity I'm not staying," said Avon sternly. "You could use a dose of my normal temperment. This boy is out of control, Nat."

 

"I know. But that's the way we like him."

 

Chuckling to himself, he walked with Avon to the outer hatch.

 

Blake was waiting for him.

 

the end


End file.
